


Fragmented

by StarryBrightLight



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Angst, Assassination Attempt(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Paranoia, Post-Book 9: Scorpia Rising (Alex Rider), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tags May Change, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 120,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23377381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryBrightLight/pseuds/StarryBrightLight
Summary: After Jack's death, Alex had little direction in his life. Paranoia and unease rule his life. He can trust no one—even when they pretend to have his best interests in mind. And, after nearly six months… it appears that things might finally be settling down. Yet, with Alex, peace is an impossibility—because someone is always looking for him.
Comments: 114
Kudos: 166





	1. Abduction

The last several months had been months of difficult adjusting, in Alex's opinion. Originally, he had had no desire to return to the UK, to the place where normalcy used to reign supreme. However, when the only other option had been to go stay with the Pleasure's in California… he liked to think that he had taken the lesser of two evils, for all parties concerned. He knew better then to try to pretend that he could ever fit in with a normal, happy family. There were too many scars, too many deep seated issues that he wasn't even close to dealing with—but he only admitted these to himself, in the quiet of his own place. Admitting that to anyone else would only bring down more problems upon his head.

Perhaps one of the factors that irked him the most though, was the fact that the conditions of his return to the UK had been formed and made with very little input from him. It was just more of his life decided for him. Yet, although he was less than pleased with the outcome, he knew that it was his own fault. For the first several weeks following _her_ death—and his mind shied away from thinking about it even now—he had been catatonic. Unresponsive to the world. There had been talk for a while—a very _short_ while—about moving him to a rehabilitative home permanently, if he hadn't snapped out of it.

Therefore, he had no one to blame but himself for his current situation.

Jones, who was a better boss than Blunt by far, had somehow unearthed characteristics that should have been dead and gone considering her official position. _Caring, understanding,_ and he shuddered, just thinking of it, a strange sort of _concern_. That hadn't stopped her from being the ringleader in the circus he called his life now.

She had presented it as a _guardianship arrangement_ , a rarely used government initiative from several years' back, which provided him with legal backing to his status. Different from emancipation, in that he wasn't recognized as an adult and wasn't required to supply all of his funding, but allowed him to live separately from a designated guardian. Meaning, he was able to live by himself—which was exactly what he wanted. In exchange for this agreement though, Jones had laid down the law. She had placed severe restrictions on his freedom and required him to go back to school.

What he had intended to do instead of school, he wasn't sure, but going back had never seemed like a possibility. He had been pulled so far from the norms that… slipping back into the schoolboy lifestyle was almost incomprehensible. However, Jones had insisted. Thankfully, she had arranged things so he was in a different school. He _was_ repeating a year though. No argument there, unfortunately. He had missed so many months with sporadic attendance in between; there was no way he could have even dreamed of catching up.

It didn't help that his brain didn't _want_ to cooperate with the process of _in-school_ learning anymore. There were too may sounds and distractions around him, for him to focus properly. Jones had gone so far as to get him special testing requirements, because after two months it became clear that he _would_ fail all his classes again, despite knowing the information.

His classmates thought he was weird, his teachers knew there was something funny about him, and just the thought of having someone sitting behind him was enough to send tingles of unease up his spine. That was one that his therapist liked to try to touch on… though how they got their information, he wasn't sure.

Which brought him back to where he was at the moment. In his therapist's office for the third—and hopefully last—time that week. He stared at the wrinkles on his knuckles, ignoring the faint scars on the backs of his hands, and tried not to squirm under the gaze of his MI6 assigned therapist. Jones had determined that no matter what location he chose—though his options by then had been dwindling rapidly—he was going to receive psychological counseling. Everything hinged on it. An individual flat with regular school attendance and therapy—or a spot within a residential living facility where someone would dictate his every move.

That threat was still hanging over his head, if his therapist determined that he wasn't cooperating.

The silence stretched out, until Alex felt like his nerves were about to snap. After changing therapists for the third time, Jones seemed to have finally found someone who was capable of out waiting him. It was unnerving, and with each session, he knew he was getting closer and closer to cracking. To just pouring out _anything_ to fill the silence that came from someone just staring at him.

He wanted to squirm, to move, to do something, anything to get out of the limelight of his therapist's gaze. But he held himself in check, carefully tensing each muscle, surreptitiously categorizing and triaging every sound and rustle of movement for any signs of danger. He knew what he was doing. He knew most would consider it unhealthy. For him, it was just life.

"I don't know what you expect me to do Alex." The therapist let out a soft sigh, finally breaking the silence. His muscles relaxed imperceptibly, the session was almost over. "I don't want to threaten you, but Mrs. Jones made it clear that you are rapidly reaching your last chance. If you don't start showing signs of improvement, or at least _something_ , this isn't going to work."

Silence again…

It wasn't silent in his head though. Those words were the ones that haunted him from session to session. The thought that one person could have so much power over his life. One wrong move—or lack of move—and Mrs. Jones would take all the paltry freedoms she allowed him. It wasn't his fault though. He had never _wanted_ anything to do with the therapists. They would just try to tell him that things _really_ weren't that bad. That he couldn't be so traumatized, because he was here, right? If he just _tried,_ things could be normal again.

_That nothing had ever happened._

He knew it was all lies though. His ghosts— either in person or in his mind, would always haunt him. His nightmares were enough evidence of that. And a small part of his brain suggested that he deserved the nightmares. He had killed people. It was the least amount of penance he could offer for his destruction and selfishness. That was what it boiled down to, after all. _She_ never would have died if he had turned _them_ down in the beginning. If he hadn't been selfish in the beginning.

The therapists, vultures that they were, had all immediately latched onto the fact that he had nightmares, was paranoid about anyone sneaking up on him, and could only somewhat function within general society. They said that that was all evidence that he needed to change things. They claimed that _he_ had the power to change things.

What they didn't understand was that everything was for a reason. The nightmares were penance. The paranoia was the only thing keeping him alive since people _still_ wanted him dead. And general society was overrated, because _no one_ could ever relate to what he had been forced through.

The children at school—because such naïve students might as well have been decades younger than him—were wary of him. Everyone stayed away from ' _that creepy Rider kid,_ ' perhaps because they knew instinctively that he was more dangerous than the thugs behind the shops were. Everyone around him got hurt or killed.

No one except the most cold-hearted of war veterans would ever understand—and even then, he was only a _kid_.

It made him different.

Unique.

_Isolated._

A clock behind him chimed out the hour, startling him, but the flinch was smothered under his tense muscles. It didn't matter though. The therapist always knew. Even after nearly two months, he had yet to get used to it. It startled him every time, and he knew if he glanced up at just the right moment he would see the pitying expression on the therapist's face. There was _always_ one.

The only good thing about the clock was that it told him precisely when his session was over. He grabbed his backpack from beside the chair, and stood up to stalk out of the room. He was halfway out the door, before the therapist's voice called after him.

"Try not to be so late next week, Alex. Mrs. Jones _is_ paying attention."

Alex scowled and left without any sign that he had heard. The meddling busybody could go stick her nose somewhere where it actually mattered. The indignity of the situation only served to send his mood even lower. He was essentially a prisoner that was allowed to roam the streets—while letting his wardens know exactly where he would be at all times.

Muttering indignant curses under his breath, he pressed the button on his mobile that informed his watchdogs that he was returning to the only place that he cared a whit about. His flat.

* * *

The problem with repeating a year—one that included such sporadic attendance—meant that there were things he remembered very clearly and things that… he had long since forgotten. While he had once been at the top of his maths class, now, he was nearing the bottom. Between his in-class concentration being nearly nonexistent and his teacher using an _abnormal_ amount of Greek letters in the lessons, teaching himself was a struggle—and only partially accomplished thanks to more than a dozen online tutoring sites. Perhaps the most annoying part of it all was that he remembered learning bits and pieces of it at one point, but not enough to put all together coherently.

The latest batch of returned homework, full of red marks, included a note that told him he needed extra tutoring and that a conversation with his guardian was likely in the future. With a resigned sigh—he didn't want to know where a conversation like that would get him—he decided that it was pointless to beat his head with something he was never going to learn anyway.

A long time ago, he had assumed that as soon as he was away from the spying world, everything would go back to normal. Classes would pick up like usual. Homework would fall into line, unquestioning. _Friends_ would make sure that his life wasn't only studying all the time. That was, of course, complete baloney. He knew better now than to expect a _normal_ , and knew that there would never be.

For now, he had to get through and make it work. Somehow.

He had no illusion that MI6's influence on his life would just disappear when he reached the age of majority. If anything, it would just get worse from there on out. They had _created_ him, so he was their problem. If his mental status wasn't acceptable by that point, he highly doubted that they would let him loose on the population. Too high of a security risk. So, they would just give him a home with even higher security—and not a single person would miss him.

The whistling of his kettle alerted him to the fact that he had been staring at the kitchen tiles for far too long again, once again wasting precious time on pointless introspection. Of course, if his therapist knew about it, they would probably say that it was a good thing he was even thinking about the future. Desire for anything was always good in their eyes. Though… the hopeless tense to his thoughts probably wouldn't be considered a positive sign.

He grabbed a mug off the counter, cutting off his thoughts mid train, and poured a cup of tea, before returning to the table that had all of his coursework for the weekend laid out. Six months in, and it felt as if he were still playing the catch-up game. It shouldn't have taken up _all_ of his time, but his inability to concentrate well in class, made it so that he had to reteach himself nearly everything.

A small mocking part of his brain wondered what else he would have to do if it weren't for the coursework. It wasn't as if he had any friends at the school. There were no wild parties to attend—probably not even any he could crash. Definitely no girls that he would take out to dinner... He suspected that if it weren't for the coursework, he would spend _all_ the time with his mind in an endless loop of self-incrimination.

Not. Going. Down. _That_. Road…

With an annoyed scowl at the veer in his thoughts, he turned to the only coursework that he somewhat enjoyed and found useful. Spanish.

Of course, it was dreadfully easy, but that didn't matter. At least he could _do it_.

* * *

It was well past midnight when he resurfaced from his studying long enough to find something to eat. As long as he went to bed by two, he would get about five hours to sleep—provided the nightmares weren't too bad. One therapist had tried telling him that sleeping more would help his concentration in class, but he doubted it. It wasn't a lack of sleep that distracted him; it was every little creak in the room. Every time another student twitched or fidgeting, drummed their fingers on their desk, or did _something_ immensely distracting. In a class full of unruly fifteen year old's—children—there were far too many opportunities for distraction.

_Like the sound of a door opening._

Alex's head snapped up, taking in the slight shift in atmosphere. If there was one thing he knew, it was the sound of his own flat. It was in an area where the neighbors were old enough that they didn't bother him and he didn't bother them. No one asked questions, and since most went to bed long before nine, _any_ out of place sound was a cause for alarm. Especially late at night.

Supper forgotten, he cautiously inched away from the counter and hall. It wasn't a loud sound, but rather, something that had penetrated the stillness that he was used to having. There were no unnecessary sounds within his flat, so he knew when something was out of place.

The door brushed against something. _Or maybe something brushed against the door…?_

He inched away, placing his feet carefully, but without thought. He knew exactly where the creaks were in the flooring. He had put them there himself. Paranoia certainly had its benefits at times. Like when someone chose the wrong flat to break into…

He held his breath as he grabbed the combat knife off the table, where he had left it after cleaning it earlier in the evening. It was the only weapon that MI6 allowed him to have, claiming that guns were too dangerous. Though he wished dearly for a gun—after all, in a knife and gun fight, knives tended to lose—he was grateful for the little they allowed him to have. With his one form of protection, he backed carefully toward his bedroom, keeping his eyes and ears open for any more irregular sounds.

The slightest click told him that the door had latched again—so there was someone somewhere—but he had no way of knowing if anyone had actually come in, or how many. He swallowed hard, and kept inching his way to the safety of the bedroom. They would have to trigger one of his warning signals. Then he could escape. They wouldn't know what was coming.

The slightest whisper of sound was the only warning he had that anyone was nearby, and the inexplicable tripping of his own feet quickly followed it, as he tried to locate the sound. He fell with a hard thud and only had seconds to realize that _someone_ was behind him. _Right_ behind him.

He tried to scramble away, but wasn't fast enough. Something hit him between the shoulder blades, knocking him back to the ground, and he felt the world around him go distinctly gray.

_Not… going to…_

He shook his head, trying to break free of the momentary fog, and reached blindly for anything, anyone. He grabbed the leg of his attacker and pulled him down to his own level, fumbling for the upper hand. It was with pure desperation that he struck out with the knife. As soon as a gun came into play, he had no hope. But for now…

It was almost too easy. The knife sunk in flesh and Alex got his momentary reprise.

"What the hell do you want?" He was attempting to cover up the fact that he had been completely blindsided by this attack. He knew he had to get out, but he wanted _answers._

"All they've ever wanted, Rider. You _belong_ to them. You're theirs." The man was surprisingly coherent for someone who just had a knife shoved into his stomach. Though he didn't appear to be attempting to come closer. "You can run, but you can't hide. SCORPIA will have you on their side."

_SCORPIA._

Alex blanched. It had only been several months. Jones had _promised._

This was why he didn't trust anyone. They couldn't even pretend to keep him safe.

Alex bolted. No more questions needed answered. He was weaponless and without any reliable way to contact MI6. His only hope was that they paid attention to the alarms strung up around his flat. He took nothing, just raced to the bedroom and the only window in the flat. He forcefully jammed it up all the way to the top, hoping it would be enough to trigger all the sensors they had placed.

His only hope of refuge before help arrived— _if_ help arrived—would be in the woods that butted up against the backside of the flat complex. Of course, that meant getting down from his third story flat… but he had a plan for that.

Paranoia had its advantages, in that he had planned for a plethora of doomsday scenarios. However, hadn't the entire purpose of this exercise been to teach him that there wasn't anything to fear in the world anymore? Hadn't that been what Jones wanted with him essentially playing house?

He shook the thoughts off and hardly thought twice as he leapt out of the window and onto the roof below. It was only an eight-foot drop. He could almost manage that in his sleep.

Of course, nothing could go as planned. That would be too _easy_. He grumbled at his luck as he hit the roof at a particularly wrong angle. Not only did it send a twinge of pain up his ankle, but also alerted anyone in the vicinity that something _strange_ was happening. And if that man had backup…

After a cursory glance, to be sure that it was nothing more than a sprain— _oh, it wasn't going to be fun to run, but at least it wasn't broken_ —he rolled over the edge of the last floor and caught the lattice framework that the owners thought made the building look _pretty_. It provided him with a simple escape route though, so he wasn't complaining.

He reached the bottom without any more problems, and paused to take in his surroundings. It was a dark night—starless, moonless, and with a burnt out street lamp to add to the ambiance. The prefect night for an ambush. Taking in a careful breath, he crept across the empty grass, heading for the safety of the forest. It wasn't the first time he had put his escape plan into action—but the other times it had just been a test. There hadn't actually been anyone in the forest after him.

Now there was.

He was halfway across when he heard the crunch of leaves that told him he wasn't alone anymore. Alex bolted, ignoring the pain of annoyance in his ankle, concentrating on getting away. If he just made it to the forest… he had no doubt in his ability to evade once within that protection. There he would have size and familiarity on his side.

But he was too slow.

Someone grabbed him around the neck with an iron grip, and despite his fighting, kicking, and struggling; he was no match for the sheer strength. His panic kicked into a higher notch, starting to send any reason and strategy out of his mind.

He wanted the hands gone.

He had nothing.

Struggling and clawing at the hands only served to tighten the grip. The air was gone. He could only last so long.

_No air…_

He grabbed at anything he could get under his fingertips, but the efforts were quickly becoming too much.

"We've got you Rider."

The grip on his neck was replaced with a sudden sharp prick, but he couldn't fight as his body struggled to pull in the air once again. And the drugs were already pulling him down.

_Waking up is going to suck…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After long consideration, this story will now be posted on AO3 as well as ff.net. This will continue to be updated, promise.  
> Let me know your thoughts, comments, and speculations down below in the comments.


	2. Captive

Where had it all gone wrong?

Where had the realm of fantasy and horror stories decided to combine to turn nightmares into reality?

Who had he pissed off so royally to get placed into this kind of situation?

It was the stuff of the horror stories that the veterans would tell the newbies, to scare them about RTI – only RIT was just that. _A training experience._ It was something to get them ready for the _what-if_ scenarios of their job.

But this… this was the _real thing_ , apparently. And this… this was so completely different from anything they had ever trained him for. No matter how many hours he might have had in training, none of it could have prepared him for _this_. Something so completely off script that… it was hard to understand what was actually happening.

Perhaps the biggest question though, was why he had been taken as their target in the first place…

He, Nicolas Kendrick—occasionally known as Zebra to his unit mates—had no reason to be captured. That he could think of. His unit was stationed in Gibraltar, just off the southern coast of Spain, and out of all of them, he blended in the best with the locals. Having spent the first ten years as a child in the south of Spain probably helped with the native accent, but he _looked_ like the natives as well.

So whoever captured him, hadn't grabbed him because of any obvious foreign ties. He looked local.

Additionally, they hadn't captured him due to any obvious affiliation with the British army. Due to the current political situation and threats toward the armed forces, they were strongly _encouraged_ to be discrete in wearing the uniform while on an off-duty excursion. He had been in the process of returning from a week on the mainland, attending the sudden funeral of his grandfather. His uniform had been in his luggage—which he doubted he would ever see again.

They had grabbed him coming out of a seldom used hall, too fast for him to even register the threat. Apart from the initial knockout though, his captors had done little to him. They had thrown him into a stonewalled room, leaving his to shake off the worst of whatever they had drugged him with.

That had been several days ago. He thought. Time wasn't exactly moving in a linear fashion, but he was pretty sure that it hadn't been that long. The only thing he had to break up the day was the once daily feedings. At least… he guessed it was once a day, judging by the state of hunger between each meal. The guards who brought him food never said a word. He had even tried goading them once or twice, but to no effect. Even though that was _technically_ against RTI protocol.

He was completely in the dark. He doubted that he was still in Spain, as it was colder and the guards – if they were natives to this area – didn't appear to speak or understand Spanish. Or English.

Not that he was complaining about the lack of torture so far. It just made him nervous. There was a purpose behind this, and he didn't know what it was, but as each day passed, he became more and more certain that there was little hope of rescue or escape. Whoever this group was might have poked a beehive—Central Command wouldn't ignore one of their own just going missing—but they likely wouldn't be caught. There were no leads.

S-unit would be frantic, of course. Although the unit had been formed after basic training, utilizing some of the best Spanish speakers in the SAS, they had bonded over the past several months. They were a specialized unit, one of the five specialized language units that spent the majority of their deployment in or near a country that spoke their target language. They were a team, and now, it would seem that one of their members had disappeared into thin air.

They'd be lucky if they ever figured out what happened to him.

With a sigh, Nico forced himself to stretch out of his customary position. This essential solitary confinement was almost as bad as anything else they could have done to him—short of actual physical torture, of course. With nothing more than his thoughts for company, it had gotten old after just a couple of days. Training had offered no coping mechanisms.

The best he had come up with was exercise, and that had only served to make him feel even more exhausted—more than just the lack of food and water. Something else was at play, but he didn't know what. The only other options he had were planning impossible escape routes and fantasizing about smashing the guard's face in the next time the door opened. Those were both impossibilities though, so he felt like he was going mental just from trying to _cope_ with the silence.

_Probably a reason why solitary confinement is supposed to be such a deterrent for prisoners…_

He should probably be counting his blessings though, that he was still in the land of the living, and pain free, at that. It could certainly be a whole lot worse. So far, it seemed that they didn't have any further plans for him, though he wondered why they had taken him in the first place.

* * *

_Thud. Snick. Thud. Snick._

The sound was out of place. It caught Nico's attention, rousing him out of his latest stupor. The last meal had only been… several hours earlier. Or so he thought. At any rate, it was much too early for anyone to come visit him. Yet, there were once again sounds outside of his door. Down the hall. Or what he assumed was a hall.

There were people out there. People who were coming his way, with unknown intentions.

Any deviation from the daily schedule was cause for concern. It had only happened twice so far, and neither had been for the best. Both times had left him feeling like a piece of meat up for sale, and his demands for answers—which followed the Spaniard front he was putting up—were just laughed at. Once again, a little bit against protocol, but he honestly wasn't seeing any other way out of the situation. It had been at least 5 days by his count, so...

He knew better than to hope for the best, but he couldn't quite squash the spring of hope that bloomed in his chest. That something had happened. That someone had caught onto clues left behind. That maybe, somewhere out there, S-Unit was successfully tracking him down.

It was vain hope. He couldn't afford to keep thinking of it—it would only let him down in the end.

Like before, Nico backed up against the wall, furthest from the door. Though he had no real way of fighting back, he liked to pretend that the little bit of extra space gave him some room for movement. Not that he was going to figure out a brilliant escape plan within the next ten seconds.

He had nothing…

The door swung open, as expected, but the sight that greeted him was far different from anything he could have ever imagined. Certainly, the sight couldn't have been from anything but a horror movie.

Blood covered. Filthy. _Unconscious_.

As the youngest child in a large family, he wasn't quite sure that his protective instinct was on par with those who had younger siblings, but he was sure he was close. He wanted to rip the guards' faces off just for… _this_.

They tossed his newest cellmate into the room, taking little care for how he landed—like a sack of potatoes—leaving him crumpled in a heap in the middle of the floor, and then snarled a few words at Nico in a language that he didn't understand, before stalking out of the room.

The meaning was clear though. _Fix him, or else_.

Nico suppressed a flinch as the door was slammed shut and locked once again. As soon as he heard the retreating sound of boots, he got closer and took a good look at the boy. _The boy._ He couldn't have been much older than sixteen years old and he appeared to be wearing some sort of school uniform. _A school kid_.

He was lying motionless on the ground, apart from the shaky gasps that caused his entire body to twitch. The original appearance of being covered in blood turned out to be untrue, as the blood that covered his face and hands appeared to have come from a cut on his head—and head wounds always bled copiously. As well, there were signs of impressive bruising around his neck, but not deep enough to be the cause of the breathing difficulties.

Nico snapped his fingers in front of the boy's face, hoping that perhaps he would get some kind of response. Though if the drop onto the floor hadn't woken him… The boy didn't react at all, not even when Nico roughly shook his shoulder. It appeared that they had drugged him, and whatever they had used had yet to wear off. It was probably—Nico's training _finally_ coming into some sort of use—that the sedatives were causing some sort of reaction symptoms. He had seen it one other time, during RTI training at boot camp. Jay, one of his boot camp unit members, had learned the hard way that he wouldn't be able to continue in the SAS—he had nearly died from an allergic reaction to a common sedative.

This didn't _look_ as bad, but it was clear that something was wrong, and Nico suspected that it related to whatever sedative they had given him.

Though… what did they expect him to do? He had no supplies, little training for anything of the sort—he certainly wasn't the unit medic—and had hardly any clue as to what was actually wrong. Nico sighed, sitting back on his heels and trying to decipher what he could. The boy didn't look too worse for the wear. His skin—where it wasn't covered in blood—was pasty white in color, but the sedative—as well as a whole bunch of other factors—could have caused that. There was signs of bruising, but no obviously broken appendages. No points of copious bleeding. Apart from washing off the blood, he couldn't do much until the boy woke up—and even then, all he could do was attempt to make him comfortable.

At the very least, he could get the boy off the floor. It took more effort than it should have to pick up and move the boy—he was a dead weight—but eventually he was situated on the poor excuse for a bed in the room. There really wasn't much to it, a couple of blankets on a cold shelf, but it provided more comfort than the floor. Though the boy hardly stirred, Nico was optimistic that the drugs would wear off eventually. From his condition, it had been at least several hours since… _his capture?_ Either they had re-dosed him or the drugs were wearing off.

He grabbed the bit of water he had saved from the previous day, and began cleaning off the worst of the blood. There was nothing better to do until the boy woke up—and perhaps he would finally have some answers. Though it seemed ridiculous to think that the boy might know something about their kidnappers… it was a possibility.

The push for escape was new in his mind now. There was another person involved. The chance of rescue went up—someone _had_ to be looking for the boy. They would find a way out.

Somehow…

* * *

It was hours—getting uncomfortably close to the next feeding time—before there were any signs of boy waking up. Nico had gotten him cleaned up and looking slightly presentable, though there was still the underlying paleness to his skin that just looked unnatural. He hadn't gotten worse though.

Just by watching the boy's face, Nico could almost watch the progression of the drugs leaving the boy's system. His eyebrows furrowed, ever so slightly, the corners of his mouth eventually turning down in a frown as well, until he was grimacing in his sleep. Nico knew the next step would come, and doubted that it would be very pleasant.

Sure enough, Nico had little warning before the twitchiness of his sleep had startled into some form of awareness. Then he was twisting, and only Nico's foresight to an unpleasant wakeup prevented a messy situation. The boy heaved, coughing up vomit and bile. As unpleasant as it was, Nico knew that it was a step in the right direction for his body. If he could rid his body of at least some of the drugs, he would recover that much faster.

The boy was gasping for air once again, trying to find the balance between vomiting and breathing, leaning over the edge of the bed. Eventually, he seemed to calm, and the boy's muscles relaxed so completely that Nico wasn't sure if he was still conscious. His limbs trembled, ever so slightly, but there was movement in his eyelashes as well. He was still there, though perhaps only barely.

Nico pushed the pail away slightly, hoping that they wouldn't need it again. Then he looked over his charge. The awareness seemed to have put the smallest amount of color back in his complexion, but it wasn't without drawbacks. The boy shuddered, his face pulling into a grimace, as if he were reliving terrible memories, and he tried to curl in on himself. To automatically protect himself.

He figured it best to make his presence known sooner rather than later, so he put a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. He was immediately rewarded with a tensing of the muscles that spoke of fear. "¿ _Chico?_ " The question didn't quite have the response he was hoping for. The boy withdrew, ever so slightly, making it obvious that touch wasn't the best way to get his attention. He pressed on anyway. The language didn't matter, for the moment. It was more important to get a response. _"_ ¿ _Estás despierto?"_

This time, the question had more of a favorable response. After a few seconds, the boy's eyelids started fluttering, seeming to fight against the light. Eventually, Nico was rewarded with a fuzzy brown-eyed gaze that was squinting against the light in the room.

" _Está bien._ " Nico continued with the Spanish, having had plenty of time to make up his mind on his approach. Firstly, as far as the captors were concerned, he was a native Spaniard—and it needed to stay that way, especially with the boy's safety in mind. If they didn't know he was SAS, then that coming to light could put them in a very dangerous situation. Secondly, he needed to ascertain whether the boy had any idea of what country they were in. If he knew Spanish, or was a native, then it was most likely they were in the same or nearby country. Thirdly, he would have to have consistency for the boy. Accent and personality changing in the middle would certainly make things difficult. "Tal vez, no está seguro, pero… bien."

Nico's statement was rewarded with a quick flickering of the eyes, taking in all the things around the small room. He had to give it to the boy, he was certainly observant. The inquisitive eyes glanced over him only briefly, but it seemed he had been put into the _non-threat_ category. Then a little more awareness came into the boy's gaze, and Nico determined it was time to progress as best as he could.

" _Finalmente_." He tried to give the most placating, worry free smile to the boy, but by the slight furrow of the brow, guessed that he had fallen a little bit short of the mark. "Has estado… durmiendo mucho tiempo."

The boy blinked slowly, studying his expression, but didn't say anything. Either he didn't understand—which was a distinct possibility—or he had yet to come into full possession of his faculties. Both were equally likely.

" _Discúlpeme._ " He had to feign the sudden realization, but wanted to get to the point of information exchange as quickly as possible. _"_ ¿ _Hablas español?_ "

Faster than he had expected, the answer came back. " _Sí._ " It was clear that such a response took a lot of effort, and Nico doubted that they would be able to hold long conversations, but generalities could be assessed in the meantime. However…

"Inglés?"

"Of… course."

And if Nico didn't recognize that accent, then he might as well eat his passport claiming him as a citizen of the UK. A variant of the London accent, to be sure. "You're a student, right? Secondary?" He filtered it with a careful amount of emphasis on the accent. His teachers had always marveled at his accent modification skills, though this was the first time he had actually put it to the test with a new listener.

The boy nodded, but nothing more seemed to be forth coming.

"How are you feeling?"

The eyes squeezed shut for a moment, as if trying to deny existence. "Terrible." Then the eyes blinked open again, gazing at him with a penetrating gaze. "But I've had worse."

There was such sincerity in that statement that Nico was almost afraid to ask what could possibly be worse than being kidnapped, drugged, and held hostage. "You'll probably be feeling it for a while. Your system isn't responding well to whatever they gave you."

The boy nodded, but winced with the movement. "'s happened before…" His eyes slid shut, so he missed Nico's startled look of surprise.

_Happened before…?_ Or was he just turning delirious again?

"'m sleepy." There was no sign that his eyes were going to open again, so Nico knew he was working on borrowed time. Until the boy woke up again.

"I'm sure you are, kid."

"'m not a kid…" The words started to slur together, as the little bit of tone that had come back to his muscles started to slip away. His body was no doubt exhausted, especially if it was just now getting rid of the drugs.

"Hold on a second." Nico shook the boy's shoulder, trying to keep him from slipping away completely. If he couldn't get all his questions answered, at the very least he could make sure… "Are you hurt anywhere?" He had no way of telling if he had missed a major injury, after all.

There was a long pause, and Nico almost thought the boy had drifted off. Then he got his response. "Ankle."

Nico moved carefully, not wanting to startle the boy. The first ankle he checked seemed perfectly fine. The other one though… was swollen, red and pulsing. But despite the tenderness, there didn't appear to be any deformity. So no broken bones. Even then, it would be painful to walk on for quite a few days yet. "Shit, kid." He mumbled to himself. "What'd you do? Jump from some height?"

"Nah… jus' from my flat."

The response startled Nico, and he paused in his examination to glance up at the boy. His eyes were still closed, although now with some added pain lines. "From your flat?"

"Mhmm… just a couple of levels…"

"What were—" He felt the leg muscles under his hand inexplicably relax and knew better than to finish the question. The boy was out for the count, once again. There would be no more answered questions until his body had recovered more.

Nico sighed and ran a hand over his face, shoving the panic and fear that he wouldn't be able to do anything out of his mind. They _would_ get free. Somehow.

Someone had to be looking for the boy.

For now, he would have to start with the obvious problems and work from there. The first step would be to wrap the ankle and provide it at least a little support.

Had to start somewhere…


	3. Matter of Time

The next couple of days seemed to fly by at such a speed that Nico almost thought that they weren't truly complete days. The teen, who had eventually introduced himself as Alex, was a conundrum. Nico had gotten more out of him in those short few minutes at the beginning, than he had in any of the following days. And that had only been a handful of words. The second time the teen had woken, Alex had done little more than give his name, barely acknowledge the tentative questions Nico asked, eat and drink his allotted portion of the food, and then slip back asleep. That first day, he had been incredibly exhausted—and with reason.

Since then though, he had said and done little, aside from staring at the door to the cell with a kind of trepidation that spoke of previous experience. That was what disturbed Nico the most about his mannerisms. The resigned acceptance from Alex, as if there were no hope.

_There was no hope. They weren't getting out._

Nico shook those thoughts off. They were all well and good while he had been alone. Now though… he had more motivation. Now he was looking for any weakness he could exploit in their captors. Despite this renewed determination, Nico couldn't help but see the hopelessness in Alex's gaze. As if he knew what was supposed to come next—which was impossible, because really… who had _experience_ with being captured?

_"I've had worse…"_

What kind of teenager… what kind of _kid_ merely responds with that when confronted with what should seem like an insurmountable situation? The pinnacle of all things terrible. But, any further questions had been firmly rebuffed by Alex's continued silence and brooding. He hadn't uttered a word in the past three days, despite Nico's persistence.

Of course, it was entirely likely that the teen saw no reason to hope, because he viewed escape as impossible. Nico hadn't even been able to give him the hope that the military _might_ be out there looking for them. He couldn't reveal that piece of information. It was too dangerous, this late in the game. All he could say was his name, a modified version of his codename, _Seb_. For their own safety, it was best that Alex—and their captors—just considered him a civilian from the lowlands of Spain with a good handle on the English language. Underestimation was always a good place to start, but that unfortunately meant deceiving the teen as well.

And unless they escaped, he would never know about the deception.

Nearly a week in now though, and little had changed. The previous night had been rough, as far as Alex was concerned. After the initial exhaustion, the teen hardly appeared to sleep—despite Nico's insistence that a good night's sleep would be useful. Throughout their 'day' period, he would catch snatches of sleep for minutes here and there. Only a handful of times had Nico seen the teen fall into a deep sleep, and both times, nightmares had disrupted his sleep after only a couple of hours.

The previous night, for example, Nico had woken out of his own fitful sleep by the sounds of soft sobbing. At first, he had thought the teen was awake already, but the rigidity of his muscles had shown that he was still somewhere trapped in his dreams. Before Nico could make any move though, Alex had startled himself awake, cry cut off halfway as he reentered the waking world. And since then, he hadn't moved from his position beside the wall, rebuffing any of Nico's attempts at conversation.

Nico surveyed the teen for the hundredth time that morning, taking in the healing cuts and bruising. The days hadn't been kind to him, but at least he had stayed off his ankle. Alex had rewrapped it several times, with the skill of someone who had done it dozens of times before, and Nico had watched from the other side of the room. It too seemed to be healing, but would need several more days before he would be comfortable with any strenuous activity. Not that activity was popular in their current predicament.

All of a sudden, Alex set up straighter from his position beside the wall, staring at the door with a focused expression. Nico stilled and listened for the barely perceptible cue that he had apparently missed.

_Thud… thud…_

Just a couple of steps away.

They were about to have visitors again. Once again, it was far too early for another meal.

The door opened with little fanfare, and Nico didn't even have time to contemplate what he was doing. Any movement on his part was likely to get them killed. It was too late to try to protect the kid.

Two men walked in. One, well dressed and cultured looking. Far too fine to be at an operation like this, but then, there always had to be the brains somewhere. The other was pure muscle and radiated smugness. The gun he wielded as if it were a child's toy made it clear that any wrong move on their part would not end well.

It seemed that they had finally decided to make their next move—and Nico _knew_ he was far outside of anything training could have prepared him for. After all, throwing a civilian into the mix always made things messy.

"I do hope you've made yourself comfortable." The finely dressed man was the first to speak, with the flat accent of… Nico wasn't quite sure. It was indistinct and unrecognizable. Almost as if he had worked hard to have a generic accent. The man smirked as he looked between Alex and Nico, seeming to calculate the distance between them, before turning his focus on Alex. "I thought it best to give you a little while to settle in—it seems that you don't like the tranquilizers very much, hmm?"

"And thank you ever so much for the extra time." The sudden exclamation from Alex caught Nico off guard. He stopped his analysis of the second man and flicked his eyes over to Alex. The pure and undisguised hatred there was almost palpable.

_He knows them._

The sudden realization was almost terrifying in its quality. There was some kind of history here. And Alex intended to provoke it. Nico shook his head ever so slightly, trying to catch Alex's eye, but it was to no avail. Alex ignored him.

"Of course, if you had done your research, you should have known about that already." There was biting venom to his words, and Nico wondered at the bravery. _Or stupidity_.

The man shrugged carelessly. "I suppose Doctor Three forgot to mention it." Alex visibly bristled at the name, but the man only seemed to smile broader at that. "Or perhaps he did and we just decided to ignore it. He… how do you say it? _Outlived_ his usefulness."

"He's dead?" No fear there, just cold, clinical curiosity.

A spark of malice lit in the man's eye as he stared at Alex. If the man with the gun weren't still aiming on Nico, he would have thought they had forgotten about him. Things were turning stranger and stranger. And Nico had no idea what he had inadvertently gotten himself caught in the middle of.

"Of course," the man spat. "What do you expect when some punk kid decides to rat on the leaders? It doesn't do any good when the board members are easily identifiable." Faster than Nico would have thought possible, the man crossed the room, grabbed Alex's collar in his fist and pushed him against the wall. "You wouldn't know anything about that now, _Rider_ , would you?"

In a flash, fear flickered through Alex's eyes. So quick that if Nico hadn't been studying his expression so intently, he was sure he would have missed it. But it had been there.

Alex swallowed carefully. "I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Of course you don't." He shoved Alex back, before releasing him. "Get up."

"No."

The hand struck out in a flash, striking Alex across the cheek. Nico jumped to move, but the man with the gun stepped forward and made it obvious that any further movement would not be allowed. Nico sat back down, eyeing the gun warily. A gunshot in the wrong place would be an immediate death sentence. He couldn't be foolish.

Weeks earlier, he could have easily taken them both in a fight. Or at least attempted to. Now though, not only did he have a second party to worry about, but the distinct lack of adequate food and water over almost two weeks was taking a toll on him—and he suspected that some of the lethargy was coming from contaminated food or water…

"Decided to finally show your spirit, Rider?" The man glowered at him. "I won't tolerate your cheek like Rothman. Get up, or we'll show your friend our _finest_."

Alex's eyes flickered in Nico's direction for the barest hint of a second, calculating. Nico knew that gaze, the one that wondered if there were any ways out. It all boiled down to one question though. _Why were they focusing on him?_ There was history between them, but what kind, Nico had no idea.

Alex looked resigned, accepting of the inevitable.

His response must have taken too long though, because moments later, Nico was flinching away from the spray of a bullet that had passed far too close to his knee for his liking. The spray of woodchips and splinters from the damaged bed bit into Nico's skin, but didn't cause too much damage.

In that millisecond moment though, the resignation on Alex's face had turned to outright fear. Not fear for himself though. Fear for Nico.

And wasn't that different to have the tables turned on him. It felt strange to be on the other side of things. To have a teenager that apparently didn't understand that _he_ was the teenager and Nico was the _adult_ —the one supposed to provide the protection.

"Get up," the man growled. "Or next time, we won't miss."

Alex's eyes shifted to the ground, no longer making eye contact with Nico. They had crossed some barrier, marking some sort of turning point. The point where everything was going to get worse. And he was completely helpless to stop it.

Alex didn't look up again as he got to his feet. That fighting spirit that had shone through so blazingly only moments earlier was gone completely. He didn't resist at all as they manhandled him out of the room and into the hall. _Docile_.

_Thud._

Nico slumped against the wall, staring at the now closed door, letting the momentary show of weakness go unheeded. _This_ was not what he had been trained for. _This_ was not enemy attacks, in the heat of battle, where he could be captured and asked to give up government secrets. Torture? They had prepared him. The acknowledgement that he might not make it out in one piece? Bearable. The knowledge that a comrade in arms might die in the next moment? Terrifying, but within the realm of reason. That's what happened in war.

 _This_ wasn't war though.

 _This_ was waiting for a teenager to return after… who knew what.

It wasn't in the handbook.

It wasn't in the RTI training.

This was a civilian, _a teenager_ —the ones that he was supposed to be protecting. No one had ever covered the possibility of the tables being flipped, of being the ones held to keep others cooperating. No one had covered it, because it should have been impossible.

The silence crept in, filling the room with a choking silence. Nico couldn't get Alex's last look out of his mind. Absolute dejection and… _an apology_. As if he were responsible for _everything_. The chilling response from the men hadn't helped either, they weren't afraid of using any means necessary to make him do what they wanted.

Nico wasn't sure where he was supposed to start. He supposed the first step was to wait until Alex came back and work from there. It was the best he could do…

* * *

Six days. Six days of the same routine and no explanations whatsoever. Over two and a half weeks… and nothing.

All Nico had to work off of were his own observations—and none of them were very promising.

He knew the signs, could make very educated guesses as to what was occurring behind those closed doors, but whoever they were up against were being very cautious. They were only leaving small clues behind, and Alex appeared to be doing most of the work of keeping to himself. No matter what Nico said or did, Alex barely gave him the time of day—much less told him what was actually happening during the almost daily _sessions_. _Once_ they had given him a day of reprieve… but it hadn't been enough.

The nights had only gotten worse, too. Sometimes even slipping over into the daytime moments where they left him alone. He was almost constantly ridged in his sleep, seeming to stifle cries of distress. It couldn't have been restful—especially after whatever stress he had been through during the day.

Yes, Nico had a good inkling of what was going on, yet he had no idea how to do anything about it. After the first day, Alex hardly resisted when they came to take him, only forlornly casting his eyes away from Nico. _Ashamed_. That sassy, snappy personality that had appeared for those brief minutes had disappeared completely, instead, retreating in on himself. He sat apart, stared at nothing, and _waited_.

Even his body was rebelling. He slipped asleep at random times, quite frequently. Only to wake up minutes later because of whatever memory or nightmare that was haunting him. It was worrying, but once again, there was nothing Nico could do. He was so far out of his scope of expertise—what training had prepared him for was nothing like reality. All he could do was attempt to convince the teenager that eating something would help. Even that though… had been hard to accomplish.

Nico glanced over at the silent teen. He was sleeping again, though probably not for long.

In the past several days, Alex had taken to curling up in his own little corner of the room, backed as far away from the door as possible. Nico had sacrificed one of the remaining blankets to Alex's comfort—practically forcing it on him—because it was clear that he wasn't going to go anywhere near the bed.

He _knew_ Alex was hurting. It was obvious in his facial expression when he was staring off into nothing. But visible injuries hadn't been present—and it wasn't like Alex permitted Nico to examine him. Not that it would have done much good. He wasn't a medic and he had no supplies.

With each passing hour, Alex seemed to retreat into himself even more, sometimes not reappearing when they came to take him away again. He always came back looking rougher and more unkempt, both physically and mentally.

Nico sighed. He was running out of options. They needed out sooner rather than later.

* * *

Three weeks. It had been three weeks since he had woken and found his life turned around, and he was starting to wonder if there was any hope of going back. If holding onto hope was actually feasible.

Seventeen days. It had been seventeen days since the teenager had joined him in his solitude and given him determination back. Now, he wondered what the use of determination was, when he couldn't actually do anything.

Ten days. It had been ten days since their captors had started knocking Alex down peg by peg, until he appeared to be a shell of what he had started with.

And Nico was at a loss.

He didn't know what he could do. Didn't know what he should do.

Especially when their captors seemed to have taken such a drastic turn.

Alex slept nearly all the time now, his body being too weak even to startle himself out of most of the nightmares. He had stopped eating several days earlier and only sipped at water. When he was awake, he followed Nico's movements, but never said a word. If it weren't for the pleading and mumbling in his sleep, Nico would have thought that they had done something to his voice.

Then, the most recent time they returned him, he had come back soaking wet and shivering. Even hours later, he was still shivering in his sleep, and Nico doubted that he was going to get warm again anytime soon. The room wasn't frigid, but it certainly wasn't warm. That chill would eventually be a death sentence… if their captors didn't get them first.

Although the hope of rescue had shone bright in the beginning, he knew that every day that passed just cut their chances even further. He had hoped, at first, that Alex had been a hostage, and some sort of ransom would be worked out. That someone would be coming after him. After those first several days though, it was clear that _Alex_ had been their goal—though Nico had yet to figure out how he fit into the picture, or if he was just there to obtain Alex's cooperation.

A random selection like that certainly wouldn't mean that any authorities put their disappearances together. They were different by several days, in completely different countries… Even though his unit mates were likely combing the area—or had been, because they knew better than to think he was AWOL—the likelihood of them finding any useful clue dropped every single day. Unless someone was looking for Alex, and had a very good lead, Nico suspected that their days were numbered.

A harsh cough interrupted Nico's thoughts, and for the second time in as many hours, it sounded like Alex was struggling for breath. He had picked it up after the latest round of their _tortures_ , and combined with his wet clothing… Nico couldn't help but imagine the worst origins for it.

Some form of water torture.

And they were doing it to someone who was essentially a child.

He couldn't stand it.

He had to do something…

Nico grabbed the last of their blankets and invaded the teen's space. The last time he had tried, Alex had glared at him, tried to lash out at him, but he suspected that Alex wasn't going to be in any state to complain now.

_Keep thinking positive._

_We'll get out._

The coughing finally stopped, but it took a moment before Alex's breathing had settled again.

Nico crouched down beside the teen in the corner, taking in the pale sheen to his skin, the wet clothing, and the shivers. His breathing sounded wet and crackly—and Nico hoped that they wouldn't continue with this line of torture.

Alex's eyes fluttered open when Nico wrapped the blanket around him, gaze taking in the close up details, yet looking puzzled and disoriented.

Nico gave him a weary smile. "You're soaking wet still." It was stating the obvious, but he knew better than to expect a response. He knew that any attempt at comfort would just fall flat. It didn't help that he was still keeping up his persistent façade of a native Spaniard, which put a small wedge of inaccessibility between them. Although he doubted that his nationality now made any difference with their captors, he suspected that a sudden change in… _accent_ would throw Alex for a loop. He already had enough going on.

"Hmm…" Alex's eyes blinked heavily, before focusing on Nico. He looked the most put together he had in days. "Well, water's wet."

Nico blinked.

He hadn't been expecting any sort of response.

For the past… seventeen days, the teen had hardly paid him any heed. And now he was…

"And there was far too much of it involved." The exhaustion was clear in his voice, but for once, his eyes were bright with awareness. So unlike the past couple of days. "I don't… I'm thirsty. You'd think I'd gotten enough of it already." He smiled somewhat self-depreciatingly, and Nico felt his heart clench.

It was one thing to harbor those fearful thoughts and suspicions. It was something completely different to have them confirmed. In a mocking manner. There was no question about it—whatever their tortures had been before, they had turned to water torture.

And Nico still had no idea _why_.

Swallowing his thoughts carefully, Nico studied Alex's face. "Would you like a drink?" He didn't dare ask for more, almost afraid to break the teen out of his seeming lucidity.

Carefully, Alex nodded. He broke into another coughing fit while Nico crossed the room to grab their solitary cup and fill it with water. It calmed again quickly, and Nico hoped that this was a good sign. Perhaps all hope wasn't quite lost.

Perhaps.

Alex drank down the water with little fanfare, not even bothering to analyze it carefully, as he had in the past.

"Would you like more?"

"No."

Only years of training kept Nico from biting at his lip. He wasn't sure what the next move was. Whose move _was_ it? He didn't want to press the teen—but he clearly knew more than he had let on.

"I'm sorry."

Nico's head jerked up, trying to figure out what the teen in front of him could possibly be apologizing for. The absolute sincerity in his eyes was tinged with the look of someone who _knew_ that getting out wasn't going to happen. That they were in a hopeless situation. Nico wanted to yell at him, to tell him not to give up hope, but couldn't. That would be hypocritical.

"They probably wouldn't have grabbed you, if they thought I would cooperate without leverage." Alex pulled the blankets down around his shoulders, seeming to create a barrier. The shutters were coming down again, and Nico wasn't any closer to getting any answers. "But I can't. You've got to understand. You've got to."

Nico nodded, though he wasn't sure what he was supposed to understand.

"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." His hands moved from clutching at the blankets, to fisting into his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut. "But they know… they _know_ … they want _them_ …"

The moment was lost. The lucidity was gone.

Nico reached out and gripped his shoulder for a moment, and was rewarded with a flinch. "I'm sure you are." He shook his head. "I'm sure you are…"

* * *

Not for the first time, Nico watched his charge toss in a fevered sleep. The night before, his temperature had skyrocketed. The moments of lucidity of the days past were long gone. Now, he tossed and turned in his sleep, barely kept liquids down, and had a cough so bad that it sounded like he was trying to lose a lung.

Their captors hadn't cared at all. They had taken Alex and returned him—barely conscious and soaking wet. Nico would have loved to yell at them, to ask them what was the point of killing someone so slowly, but a small secret part of his heart was still hoping for a miraculous rescue.

If they could just hold out.

Another coughing fit broke the teen's sleep and Nico knew that it was time for another attempt at water. Unless Nico forced it on him, Alex wasn't eating or drinking anything. So, with nothing else to do, Nico did the best that he could whenever the teen woke up. He had success about half the time. There were times that Alex pushed him away or didn't respond at all. There were other times that he cooperated. Thankfully.

As usual, Nico approached cautiously. Alex was stirring, rousing himself as the coughing fit ended. It had a deeper quality than before, and Nico had no doubt that it hurt. He knew that violent enough coughing could cause broken ribs, and he hoped that Alex hadn't yet gotten to that point.

"Alex?" He took the slight turn of the head in his direction as good sign, and settled on the floor next to Alex. "Come on, let's get you sitting up."

Alex's dazed and unfocused gaze just slid on past Nico, but he didn't actively push him away. Nico slid an arm around his shoulder, pulling him up into a sitting position. It wouldn't do to pour more water down his lungs inadvertently. Alex's head lolled against his shoulder and Nico could feel the heat radiating off him.

"Just a little water, then you can sleep some more if you'd like." He had found that this sort of bargaining tended to get through. Nico felt more than heard the hitch in Alex's breathing. The teen was close, but any moves too early would mean losing the race. He picked his words carefully. "Come on kid, trust me."

Alex's gaze wandered the room, but the ever so slight relaxing of his positioning told Nico that he almost had it. Just a little bit more.

"Hey Alex, come on." He leaned so that he could at least pass through Alex's field of vision. He might not be seeing things at the moment, but he knew someone was there. "You've got to drink something." Carefully, he coaxed tiny sips of water into Alex, taking care to let back when Alex tried to take too much at once. "That's it…"

Finished, Alex leaned back slightly. His eyes skittered across Nico's face, not seeming to take in the features. "Who… you?"

Nico swallowed. "Seb, remember?"

Alex nodded, as if it solved everything. "Oh."

Nico _wanted_ to be able to tell him that everything would be okay. That it was only a little fever and he'd be better before he knew it. That _surely_ someone would come to their rescue. But he couldn't. Because he knew it would be a lie.

He felt Alex relaxing against him, and knew that he was going to slip asleep again. Perhaps sleep was the best way out for him right now. Once he was asleep again, Nico would slip away. There was no telling what kind of mood Alex would wake in next, but he had never seemed to appreciate someone being close. Until the next time.

The time left for both of them was rapidly counting down.

Alex was quickly reaching the end of his usefulness—delirious and unfocused wouldn't get their captors whatever information they thought he had. Things would escalate soon.

* * *

When the guards came two days later to get them both, Nico knew that the final chapter had opened—and he didn't see any escape.


	4. Penance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for semi-graphic torture.

The air was choking in his lungs.

He longed to take a breath.

It had been _so_ long…

_Minutes?_

_Hours?_

It couldn't have been…

He didn't know anymore.

All he knew was the burning sensation in his chest as he struggled to hold his breath.

_Just._

_A._

_Little._

_Longer…_

His muscles were spasming, fighting between his body's basic needs for oxygen and his own determination. He couldn't let them win. He had already lost once— _and they weren't letting him forget_. He wasn't going to lose again.

Suddenly, hands yanked him back, the cold air hitting his face in a mocking embrace. And he gasped for it. Gasped for the oxygen that he needed, barely managing to fill his lungs before violent coughing overtook him and expelled all of the previous air he had just regained. His vision greyed out and he fell limp in the grip of the two men that were manhandling him, pulling his already bruised shoulders at an uncomfortable angle.

"Had enough, Rider?" A hand gripped his chin, jerking his face up to meet that of his captor's. He still couldn't catch his breath and each lungful only seemed to fill him part way. The man, who had introduced himself as Clyde, smirked at him. "Hmm… I think that concoction did the trick. Couldn't have you copping out because you were delirious, could we?"

Alex tried to pull himself together, to bring the scattered fragments of his mind back together, but he was _so_ tired. His entire body hurt—he was sure it was just a mass of bruises—but even that had decreased with whatever they had dosed him with. It had been just enough to bring him out of the haze of fevered delirium and into semi-coherent thought.

"Shall we start with the easy questions again?" Clyde growled, before signaling the goons to drop him. He crumpled as soon as the support was gone and only luck kept him from striking his head. A boot caught him in the ribs— _bruised? Broken?_ —and he curled in on himself.

"Answer me."

Unable to muster up the strength to say anything—what was he even supposed to say?—Alex settled for a glare to convey his thoughts. _Go to hell_. He couldn't force his face into a proper glare, diminishing the effect, but Clyde seemed to get the message. He merely smirked again, before waving at the goons.

Before Alex could even _think_ about getting a lungful of air, they had spun and disoriented him before dunking his head and shoulders back into the tank of water.

_No air._

The tendrils of water wormed their way between his eyelashes, stinging his eyes.

It rushed into his ears.

Snaked up through his nose.

Burned through the cuts and scrapes on his face.

Pretended to caress the bruising.

Yet still drowning him.

He had long since learned that it was useless to struggle. He had tried that at first, before his energy had run out completely—days earlier. They were stronger than he was, and had the advantage of numbers. They had him firmly and there was no hope of escaping it.

A sharp hit on his back made him lose the little air in his lungs in one rapid rush. Only the barest presence of mind kept him from automatically inhaling again. It was only a matter of time though. Before will and determination gave way to the automatic tendencies of his body.

His lungs were burning.

He felt the tickle in the back of his throat that signaled an oncoming cough.

He slumped, his body going completely lax, in the hopes that they would assume him passed out. Would pull him out.

_Nothing._

This time, when the urge to cough came, he couldn't resist. It was his body's natural reflex. Water flooded his mouth, gagging him, trying to rush into places where it wasn't supposed to go. It mixed with the cough and inhale, infiltrating everything. Mouth, throat, _lungs_.

He tried.

Tried so hard.

He knew a copious amount of water in his lungs was a death sentence.

 _Then_ they pulled him out, dropping him unceremoniously onto the stone floor. He heaved along with the coughs, as his body struggled to get rid of the unwelcome water. The burning in his ribs only increased, as even though he was in an oxygen rich environment, he couldn't stop choking and spluttering long enough to get an inhale. Every attempt only served to prolong the coughing and retching.

"My, my, Rider. How the mighty have fallen," Clyde whispered into his ear. A hand pinned him to the ground and he struggled to cease the coughing. If he just got one inhale… "And all it took was just a little bit of _water._ "

He shuddered away from the touch, and finally, _finally_ , his body gave up the fight. His chest heaved as he gulped in small mouthfuls of air, weary of taking a deep breath and triggering the coughing again. After a few long moments, the world solidified again, and reality turned crystal clear once more. Whatever they had drugged him with was working a little _too_ well…

"They warned me that you were _feisty_ , but they didn't do your stubbornness justice. Your… _pigheadedness_. After all, you hardly try to defend yourself." Something hard knocked him across the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. For one breathless moment, he was terrified that the coughing would start up all over again, but it didn't. "I can see why Doctor Three liked you. _So promising_. But you're clearly not expecting rescue. There's no reason to keep holding out. After all, you're just prolonging your suffering."

To know rescue wasn't coming, was one thing. To hear someone mock him about it… He _knew_ there was no way MI6 would come for him. It had been too long. Too many days, and likely no leads. The only reasoning he had for not following along with their wishes was that he _really_ didn't want to die knowing he was a traitor to his own country. Not that he knew the information they wanted… So far, his captors hadn't acquiesced with his usual ploy of goading them into killing him prematurely.

He didn't truly have a death wish.

He just didn't want to let them win.

"Are you ready to answer questions now?"

"Go… t' h-hell," Alex rasped, not sure how he had even managed to come up with that. He fought down the urge to be physically sick again.

"Hmm, no?" Clyde shoved him hard. "Well, since you're so stubborn, I guess we'll have to move onto the next step. I'd say sorry, but really, you brought this on yourself."

Before he could say or do anything else, hands picked him up and deposited him into the chair at the center of the room. The chair had always been there. He shuddered to think of what had happened before… though the memories strangely were foggy. As it was, the room spun around him and he continued to struggle to catch his breath. He didn't have the energy or strength to fight against them, as they strapped his arms and legs to the restraints. His head lolled to his chest, the muscle movements too much to support.

He was wiped out. He wouldn't be able to take much more.

That was _almost_ a comforting thought.

The drugs only served in clearing up some of the fog, it didn't clear up the exhaustion.

"Let's play a game, Rider." Clyde pushed his chin up, forcing eye contact. "I thought your new friend was getting a little lonely all alone in the cell, so I figured he should join in today too. Unfortunately, he won't be able to hear your screams."

The hand wrenched his head to the side, so he was staring across the room. Separated by a large glass wall—one that he didn't remember being there in the past—they had strung up his cellmate by his arms at a no doubt uncomfortable angle.

"He got to watch the opening parry. Seemed to get a little… _worked up_. So we had to bring him back down to earth and start the fun a little early."

Alex was just able to make out the starting marks of bruises on Zeb's torso— _it was Zeb, wasn't it? Or was it Seb… Or… Or… He couldn't remember…_ —and averted his eyes, not wanting to see the sure horror on the other man's face. Though his mumblings days earlier had been half-delirious, he had meant what he said. They likely wouldn't have taken the other man, except for the fact that they knew that a bargaining chip was more likely to get Alex to cooperate. He might not care about his own life, but he certainly didn't want more deaths on his conscience.

And he had tried.

Tried so hard to keep them away.

Even gave up insignificant answers at times, just trying to buy more time. More chances for the other man to have an opportunity to escape. He had failed and… _this man_ would just be another face on the increasing list of kills. He didn't see a way to get either of them out alive. He couldn't give Clyde the information he wanted—partially because he wasn't going to betray his country, partially because he didn't _know_ the information in the first place.

"This is how it's going to work Rider; your friend over there will only get as much of a reward as you let him. It'll be up to you. For every wrong answer you give, Vladimir here will break one of the bones in _your_ fingers."

Alex felt the blood drain out of his face.

Clyde grinned nastily. "Oh, yes. Since we'll run out of fingers and bones eventually, we'll give you a little rest between each one. Only, we'll have to take your continued disobedience out on your friend. He'll last longer than you will, obviously. You should know better than to _test us_."

Alex shuddered, a sickly feeling washing over him. He had no doubt that they were going to live up to their words. And while he couldn't entirely remember the past couple of weeks, he knew that they were sinking to a completely new level. He wasn't sure he could _do_ it.

"Let's start with something basic. You can work with us, can't you? What does MI6 know about the _reformed SCORPIA_?"

 _Reformed SCORPIA…?_ Alex felt as if he had heard that phrase recently and it put a sour taste in his mouth. They had come back, obviously. No matter the clarity he felt though, he still had trouble maneuvering his tongue to form words. "Ba…sterds…"

A hand snapped out and struck him across the face, setting his ears ringing. "Sneaky, though perhaps not altogether a lie. But I'm afraid you're going to need to give us a little more than that." He grabbed Alex's chin and forced the eye contact once more. "Let's try it again. What does MI6 know about the reformed SCORPIA?"

Alex rolled the words around in his head. They had been questioning him about this all week… _right?_ That's what this was about…. _Or was it…?_ Mrs. Jones had never mentioned anything—especially not that he had been at threat from them. "Nu-nothing… They know… _nothing._ "

A flick of the wrist from Clyde and the audible snap made Alex flinch and bite his tongue in surprise. His stomach churned and the room greyed out for a moment, before snapping back into reality. The pain hadn't really come yet; his body was still in the shock of the moment.

He didn't dare look down.

"I hope you realize how stupid that was." Clyde said, as if chiding a small child. "We _know_ MI6 is on to us. We know things you couldn't even imagine. We have a mole on the inside, after all. They just don't know _everything_. But a rather frequent teenage visitor to the Head's office… well that just piqued our interest."

Alex's eyes widened at the horrific realization. His own side had turned him in. Someone, somewhere, knew exactly where he was, because they had arranged it to be that way. _They_ didn't realize that every time he went to the Head's office, it was because of some change in arrangements, or because he had screwed up, or because Jones was threatening him with revoking his guardianship arrangement.

All because someone else assumed he was the key to the secrets of the division.

His distrust for anyone related to MI6 increased, even as slightly hysterical laughter bubbled up. He tried to swallow it down, tried to drown the irony in his brain, but only succeeded in triggering a coughing fit that left him gasping and jerking in his bonds. The movement was too much for his hand and started a deep ache that would no doubt get worse at time passed.

"Maybe that's too general for your feeble mind to comprehend. Maybe we should start with something easier. When did MI6 start investigating our presence? Can't have any moles on our side, after all."

Alex just shook his head. He couldn't bear to meet his cellmate's eyes— _what was his name…?_ —as his continued silence would mean pain for him as well. He couldn't stand to see whatever they inflicted on him.

"Oh, no, no. That's not fair. Your friend suffers—you suffer. Watch, Rider." A hand forced him to look forward, but he still tried not to watch. Tried not to see the immediate welt and bruise that followed the line of the whip. _Once. Twice. Three times._ Tried not to see the pain in the other man's eyes—all while feeling the throb in his arm pick up in tempo. "No blood, but just hard enough to create deep bruising. He'll be able to hold out longer—so we might have to give him more. It all depends on how stubborn you decide to be. Now, when did MI6 start their investigation, hmm?"

Once again, Alex just shook his head, trying to mentally prepare himself for the pain. It didn't work. The world greyed out, in time with the snap that seemed unnaturally loud to his ears. The wash of pain this time was more acute, immediately sending throbbing pain up and down his arm. He tried to block it out, panting with the effort.

"You just don't learn, do you? I hope you realize that there's more than one joint in each finger that we can break." A hand caressed his and Alex tried to jerk away. It only served in making the throbbing intensify. "Now, how about you answer our questions, hmm?"

* * *

Alex spluttered for air as he dropped to the ground for the third time in as many minutes. He instinctively curled around his arm, trying to protect the maimed and mangled joints from any further abuse. As it was, each miniscule movement brought another wash of pain and nausea.

His view of the world had long since narrowed down to nothing but his own pain and the persistent, insistent questioning. Words with little meaning now, just blurring together. _Who knew? When did they start investigating? What were the codes? Who had access? Where…? It would all stop, if he just answered them._

He had already attempted to throw up more than once, but each time had brought up nothing more than bile and triggered a violent coughing fit. The throbbing fire that traveled up his arm only surpassed the pain in his ribs.

Clyde had decided that he needed to wake up, once they had finished with the first four fingers. Twelve perfectly executed breaks—and who knew how many lashes for his cellmate—and with the last two, Alex had been hovering on the edge of consciousness. The pain was so close to pushing him over the edge… so, they had dunked him. Repeatedly. Until he thought his lungs would burst.

"Your friend is not doing so well, Rider. I think you need to learn to take better care of your friends. It's a shame that you keep getting them killed off." The sharp click of boots pacing a short distance away carried across the room, and Alex couldn't help but squeeze his eyes shut and wish that those boots wouldn't get any closer. He wasn't even listening to the words anymore. The room was a wash of sound, each noise a cacophony, and every movement a threat to his very being.

He _wanted_ to sink into the darkness. He had reached his limit. He had _surpassed_ it, even. It was just that every time he got close to the relief, someone forcibly pulled him back. His only comfort was that there would be a point where they couldn't force him any longer, he could only withstand so much—he just feared how far away that point might yet be.

"Do you know how many bones there are in your hand, Rider?"

Alex shrank back, hearing the boots come closer. He wasn't safe. The boots stopped right next to his head, where he was curled on the ground.

"Do you? No? There are roughly twenty seven in each hand." His broken hand was roughly pulled away from his chest and Alex couldn't help the mumbled pleas for them to stop. The begging for relief. "Just think, Rider, how much pain do you think I could cause you, if I decided to crush every one of those little structures?" Alex's breath caught in his throat as the man tugged, ever so slightly, on the one finger that wasn't _yet_ broken—his thumb. "How much do you think we could get out of you in that time, hmm? Would we have to take a break, and then start all over again? Break everything again?"

Alex whimpered in his chest, trying unsuccessfully to retrieve his hand.

"Feel like testing me, Rider? Your continued resistance tells me otherwise." The fingers stroked his thumb, mockingly. "Just tell me, Rider. Tell me one little thing. Where are the _Prism_ files? Hmm? Where are _his_ files?"

He heard the words, but he couldn't process them. He knew he was failing yet another test; they would punish him again. His heartbeat sped up even more, his hand still a hostage. The mask that held back the visible fear and pain crumbled, and so, he didn't even think twice about the sobs and pleas that rose up from the recesses of his mind. He had passed beyond the capabilities of forming functional speech, of telling them what they wanted to hear. _He couldn't…_

"Hmm… pity." There was a sharp yank, an audible crack that seemed to resonate around the room, and this time, Alex couldn't stop the scream that bubbled up—even though the air required for such a move, he hardly had. He jerked away, heedless of the increase in pain that it caused, trying to protect the appendage. Trying to keep any more harm from occurring.

He gasped at air, trying to deny the agony that was traveling up his arm in waves of fiery pain.

Only the sound of crashing glass and subsequent rapport of guns cut through his drawn out sounds of pain. Hardly thinking, he pushed himself until he had his back against the wall, curling his arm toward his chest, trying to stifle the agony. Self-preservation was still, for some reason, high in his thoughts.

He was freezing.

He couldn't think anymore.

His hand was burning.

He wondered if he had finally paid enough penance…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only the beginning. May be a couple more days until the next chapter is posted. Let me know what you think in the comments!


	5. Hope

He hadn't expected anything. It had seemed hopeless from the outset.

After all, he all but resigned himself to what seemed like a _very_ messy end.

Those first few minutes, when they had thrown Nico into a separate room, tied him so that his feet were barely touching the ground, and all but forced him to watch as they injected some kind of drug into Alex, he was sure that that would be the final blow. There would be no more. Yet strangely, it had worked in the opposite manner, and for a few moments, his diminished spirit had risen up.

Alex had fought for himself, for a handful of minutes, before they had proceeded with part two of their plan. The systematic breaking down—by nearly drowning him. The teen had fought at first—though gasping for air whenever he was pulled out—but eventually even his spirit was dampened. When they had manhandled the teen into the waiting chair, dull eyes had stared at Nico for only a moment, before looking away.

In that brief glance though, Nico had seen the shame and self-disgust. Somehow… for some reason… Alex was blaming himself. _For who?_

Very few sounds made it across the glass barrier that separated them—likely, someone had designed it with just that purpose in mind. A method to force him to watch the torture, without being able do anything about it.

The visible flinches from Alex were impossible to miss—in response to a question…? The sudden paling—chalk white, instead of just blanched—indicated something more. Though what…? He barely had time to process it, before fire snaked its way across his torso. _Once. Twice. Three times_. He jerked in his chains with each hit, trying to pull away, but only succeeding in pulling on his shoulders. He would dislocate them if he wasn't careful.

Nico blinked through the sudden haze—whipping wouldn't put him out forever, but it was enough shift his concentration. So much, that he almost missed the essential piece of information thrown his way. Alex jerked in his chair, and this time, Nico understood.

They were methodically breaking his fingers.

* * *

It continued on for forever. Brief spurts of pain followed by stretches of uncomfortable silence.

Nico slowly lost contact with anything outside of his own sphere.

The pain of breathing.

The urge to _relax_ just a little more.

The knowledge that tensing his muscles would make the pain worse.

Even through that though, it was impossible to miss Alex's own slow descent into a pain-induced disconnect from reality—yet never once appearing to scream. The teen's once present stubbornness had been exchanged for something else. He could only watch as the submersion started up once again, giving him a slight break. Only long enough to gather his wits and desperately look for a way out.

Yet he could do nothing. He could say nothing. He could only watch as the once proud and stubborn figure, fell limp to the floor, only trying to protect his injured hand. The teen looked to have little more sense than a wild animal. Nico let his eyes drop when the main perpetrator walked up to Alex's shivering form. He couldn't take it much longer—either of them. They were out of time.

His head snapped up, rattling the chains and jostling his precarious footing at the sound of an audible and hair-raising scream. Whatever they had just done, had apparently been the tipping point for Alex—and they had thought it was appropriate to taunt Nico with the sound. The sound carried across the glass barrier, unlike any of the earlier sounds, and the sound of suffering was just _too much_.

However, the scream triggered a reaction that was almost too complex for Nico to follow. Within moments, the state of the two rooms had changed completely. The glass wall that was once there was no more. There were people _everywhere_.

Guns fired.

Glass shattered.

But apart from the man who had been in the room with Nico, their captors had all disappeared.

_Vanished._

Nico blinked heavily, suddenly feeling an unprecedented exhaustion sweep over him. He sagged in the chains for a moment, before an uncomfortable tug on his shoulders reminded him that that wasn't a good idea. A glance in the right direction though, sent a wave of relief through him. The insignia on the uniforms was enough to tell him that they were finally with friends.

 _SAS_.

There was hope.

Between one blink and the next, a man appeared in front of him, fiddling with the locks and chains that kept his arms raised—and quite possibly what was keeping Nico on his feet. "We'll get you out of here in just a moment." The soft burr of a familiar accent was enough to reassure Nico. The man looked familiar and Nico wracked his brain for a reference. Familiarity likely meant that he had either been at boot camp, or at a station with one of the other European specialty units.

Then it clicked. "Cobra." Boot camp, though in another training unit. "What… unit?" The words caught in his throat awkwardly, and he realized that at some point he had screamed himself nearly hoarse.

The man looked at him in surprise, no recognition on his face, but only paused in his task for a moment. "D-unit. And you are?" There was only a hint of suspicion there, but that was to be expected.

Nico nodded slightly, trying not to pull on his muscles unnecessarily. Another European specialty unit—most often stationed near a base in Germany.

He nearly fell when the cuffs and chains came undone; the sudden rush of blood to his fingertips causing an intense stinging and tingling sensation, but Cobra caught him before he fell. The sudden release had his muscles protesting in agony, but he gritted his teeth as he tried to find his shaky feet. He only had need of keeping it together for a little while longer. They would soon be in safety. "Zebra, S-unit."

There was a sharp inhale from his right, but Nico decided that turning his head would probably not be a good idea. As it was, a man with captain's bars stepped in front of him, surveying him quickly. "Leopard, captain of D-unit. Report, Zebra."

A brief smile worked its way across Nico's face at the familiarity. "Abducted while returning from compassionate leave in Spain." He hoped they would excuse the brevity, but standing in place was only making him more aware of how injured he was. "They brought Alex after that. Used me to get him to cooperate. While they tortured him. They broke the fingers on his left hand." He stifled a shudder as he remembered the distant gaze get further and further away. "And they tried drowning him…" He knew there was more he should tell them. More that was applicable. But… he couldn't.

Thankfully, Leopard seemed to understand this. "At ease, Zebra. As soon as we've got the kid, we'll get out of here."

Nico's eyes flickered toward the glass wall that was no longer there and the crowd of soldiers in the other room. "Is he okay?"

There seemed to be a long moment of silent communication between Leopard and Cobra—who was still partially supporting Nico's weight. After a moment, Leopard shook his head slowly. "He won't let anyone get close. We don't want to sedate him, but…"

Nico shook his head vehemently, ignoring the ripples of pain it sent up his back. "No! Had a bad reaction to _their_ sedative. And he's swallowed and inhaled a lot of water—it'll only make it worse." Nico tried to straighten up, to be more the soldier that he was. So long as he ignored the burning pain, he could pretend for a little while. "Let me… let me talk to him."

Leopard surveyed him with a suspicious stare, assessing him carefully, before nodding. "If you think that might work—and you're up to it. By all means."

Determined though he was, he still needed help traversing the space, his footsteps wobbly and his back and chest paining him more with every movement. Though the whip had hardly broken skin, it had left behind visible marks of its passage. The full extent of the damage wouldn't be visible for another couple of days though. It hurt now, but would hurt even more later. There was no avoiding it, unfortunately.

He was pulled up short by the sight that Alex presented him with. This was an image that was so completely opposite of what Nico had seen in the past weeks, even in the past days. The teen was curled into a ball, protecting his visibly swollen hand with a sort of ferocity of the desperate. His sobs, though inaudible, were unmistakable. The tear tracks alone seemed out of place on the usually stoic teen.

With help, Nico managed to crouch down beside the teen, taking in the shivers and raspy breathing that told a story all its own. He was likely in shock, teetering on the edge of coherent thought and responses. Even a hesitant hand on his knee caused him to curl in further on himself. "Alex? They're here to help." Bleary eyes opened to look at him, unfocused, but recognizing. "They're SAS—soldiers. They just want to get us out of here."

He could feel the questioning gazes upon the sudden accent, but he ignored them. They were all well aware of the extra training that went along with being a part of one of the specialized units. For now, consistency for Alex would be the best. A familiar voice would be more likely to put him at ease.

"He-help…?" The statement was breathy and barely audible.

"Yes, exactly." A familiar, yet resigned, look came into Alex's eyes, and Nico took that as the cue to signal the medic. "Have to get your hand stable, and then we can get out, okay? Easy as that." He _knew_ it really wouldn't be that easy, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that at least reassuring scared, injured teenagers was an area he had _a little_ experience in. "Then you can get out of those wet clothes. I bet that would make you feel a lot better."

Alex blinked at him, but didn't say anything more. It seemed that for the time being, the shock and pain were reigning supreme in his mind—and Nico guessed that he couldn't process much more than that.

Then, the medic came over with a syringe and some of Alex's previous stubbornness flared back to life. He physically pulled back, despite the fact that such a move obviously pained him, eyes widening in terror. "No… no… _no sleep_ …" He broke off into a coughing fit that eventually died down to pained gasps, but it had served his purpose, the medic had stopped.

Adopting a similar position as Nico, the medic crouched down carefully, examining Alex with his eyes. "It won't make you sleep. Promise." He turned the syringe so that Alex could see it fully, but didn't bring it any closer. "It's a mild painkiller, to take the edge of the pain off. We've got to stabilize your hand, and then move you, and that's going to hurt—but this should help a little."

Alex stared at him with cautious lidded eyes, flicking over to Nico at once. Nico gave the slightest nod, encouraging him—they couldn't force him, not without causing irreparable damage. Alex finally jerked his head once in a nod. He didn't say anything as the needle bit into the skin of his lower arm, merely followed every movement with a suspicious, pained expression. Nico was reminded that this wasn't the first time that day Alex had received some sort of injection and said as much to the medic. The benefits outweighed the possible risks though, and within a few minutes, some of the pain lines on his face had smoothed out.

When it became clear that the medic wasn't going to try to inject him with anything else, Alex turned his gaze elsewhere. Despite his fearful protecting, he hadn't once looked at his hand.

The medic rigged up a makeshift splint, trying to move Alex's hand as little as possible, all the while keeping up a running commentary of what he was doing. It seemed to help Alex relax a little more. There wasn't much that could be done in such a primitive setting; the bones would have to be set properly, which would likely require the expertise of a skilled doctor.

Eventually, the medic had done all he could. "Hold on a little longer," he told him. "We'll get you out of here and then find you some stronger painkillers."

Alex's gaze flickered to Nico for a moment, clearly broadcasting the generalized fear and pain he still felt. There was nothing more to be done though.

Nico watched as Alex initially flinched away from the arms trying to pick him up, and then his face suddenly blanched, before his entire body fell limp. The medic was quick to reassure them that the teen had only passed out—nothing immediately life threatening. Perhaps it was merciful to him, because even in unconsciousness he was clearly still in pain.

For now, the immediate danger was gone. They needed to get out; needed to find real medical care.

* * *

Nico remembered very little of the long trek from the building they had been kept hostage in, to the SAS base camp. He had had to be supported the entire way back, having used up all of his reserves of energy in attempting to get through to Alex. None of the corridors had looked familiar, and he had quickly settled into a daze, hardly noticing when the medic had stopped the entire party to give him his own painkiller injection.

The only clear point in his memory was stepping outside for the first time, and finding that it was just the beginning of dawn. The cold wind had brought him back to his senses for a moment, biting into his bare flesh, but even that had died down as someone had helped him carefully drape a blanket of some sort over his shoulders.

After that, he vividly remembered being ushered into the medic's tent, where he had been gently poked and prodded—while on the other side of a divider, Alex had gone through the same thing, though mercifully still unaware.

As soon as they determined that there were no immediate injuries that they could treat, they gave him a stronger painkiller—and the questioning began. _Who was he? What was he doing? Why had he been off base? How long had he been missing? Where did the boy come from? What did he know about the boy? Why was he being tortured?_

His voice was in the middle of breaking, when someone new had joined them in the tent, and Nico was sure he had never been so happy to see a commanding officer. Especially one that he had met before and therefore at least _knew_ of him—and his current status of _missing_.

Granted, finding out that their rescue had been a complete fluke had been a bit of a shock. The SAS had been clearing out what they had assumed was a mostly abandoned base for some minor terrorist group—and had only investigated deeper when they found recent blood in one of the rooms.

Finally, finally, the questioning ended, and they left Nico be. A helicopter would be coming within the hour and they would be moving out as soon as it arrived. There was something distinctly rewarding about knowing that they wouldn't be shoved in with the rest in a standard troop carrier—though perhaps considering their injuries…

After telling a passing medic that he assumed that Alex's surname was Rider, he had been left alone with the teen, to rest, with the knowledge that one of the soldiers was only a shout away, and there were enough monitors on Alex to let anyone know the moment something went wrong.

As earlier, Nico couldn't help but study the strange teen his lot had been thrown in with. Alex looked worse than he had earlier, the bruising around his face in contrast with the stark paleness that encompassed his skin. He was pale and shaking still, despite the fact that they had stripped him of his wet clothes almost as soon as he came in, and wrapped him in layers of blankets. His cough and shallow breathing came and went as well, but that had seemed marginally better as they had pumped him full of painkillers and all sorts of other medications—talking about shock and infection, and who knew what else.

Satisfied with the visual inspection—he wasn't sure where the sudden protective streak and worry for Alex came from—Nico carefully let himself relax. After the medics had examined his back and shoulders, he had been given little option in whether he was going to lie down or not. Sitting had quickly become painful after a handful of minutes—there was no way he would be able to stand a long flight. They were also worried about the actual damage to his muscles.

So, no matter what his pride felt, there was no way he was walking to the helicopter.

He glanced back over at Alex, wishing there was a more comfortable way to lie on his stomach, and was surprised to see him staring back.

Although he clearly wasn't fully awake, Alex was taking in his surroundings with a weary gaze. "Where…we?" He had been quick to spot Nico, and there was no mistaking the relief in his eyes.

"Temporary SAS task back in the north of Germany." That had been a bit of news for him—it was a long ways away from the south of Spain—but Alex hardly looked fazed. "We'll be leaving soon, I suspect."

Alex nodded slightly, as if this were perfectly acceptable and expected. "Who… came?"

"The SAS. They're a branch of the British military—"

"No… what units?"

Nico stared at Alex. Very few members of the public knew more than the basics about the SAS, and it was odd that a mere teenager would think to ask _specifically_ about which units had rescued them. Of course, if he were the son of a SAS member… or some high ranking official… it might explain a little, though certainly not all of it… "D- and F-units."

"Oh… good…" A half smile crossed his face—a sign that his painkillers were working well. His eyes flickered over the blankets that were covering him, before turning back to Nico. "How long… we been here?"

"About an hour. It's been about two since we left the… building." Nico nodded toward Alex the best that he could. "You've been unconscious since then. How are you feeling, anyway?"

Alex blinked, seeming to think about that for a couple of moments. "Hand hurts. Chest, uh, hurts. Hurts to… breathe." A puzzled but dazed expression crossed his face. "And numb. Definitely numb."

Nico nodded. "That would be the painkiller." He felt the hint of numbness himself, but knew that a wrong movement would bring the pain back.

"Figures…"

For a teenager that had been kidnapped and tortured for over three weeks, he certainly seemed to be taking things well. Far too well—especially considering how broken he had been only hours earlier, pushed to his limit. Nico suspected that there would be some kind of backlash whenever Alex truly felt safe again. He wasn't sure he wanted to be around for that… he would either try to cover it up with a heap of sarcasm or it would be a complete breakdown.

Conversation seemed to die out there, with Alex shutting his eyes, and Nico trying to relax his muscles. He wasn't sure how messed up the kid was going to be… sometimes they were more resilient about these types of things than others were. As for Nico, he could already see the psych visits piling up for the next couple of weeks. Ignoring things for the time being seemed to work perfectly well, but he _knew_ that that was not an acceptable coping mechanism. It would likely be well over a month before he was cleared for active duty again… and at the moment, he _really_ wanted to see his unit mates.

A short while later, he heard the sound of the helicopter flying overhead and knew that their ride to freedom was finally arriving. Alex left out a resigned sigh at the sound, no doubt realizing the same thing. Nico couldn't help but smile at that.

The small tent turned into a flurry of activity, as they were being prepped for leaving and then being bustled out, Nico wondered just who would be waiting for the teen once they were home.

Nico himself guessed that he would have several weeks of leave, at home with his family. His parents would likely try to smother him and his older brothers would poke fun at him and show off their progeny. He'd definitely find a way to contact his unit… had to make sure that they weren't doing anything too exciting without him. The normal things in life, he supposed.

Hopefully, it would be just as happy a reunion for Alex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really only the beginning for Alex.


	6. Onward, Forward

It was five days before he saw Jones.

He knew she had been there, somewhere in the background, but he had been so comfortably out of it that very little had registered. There were few benefits to being cooped up in the hospital's critical care ward, but warm blankets, unlimited sleep, and painkillers that nearly sedated him were definitely up there at the top. The downside was feeling like absolute death once they moved him out.

He remembered little of his initial days in the ward—or even of the journey from the SAS camp to the hospital. It was all a blur, occasionally interspersed with a doctor or nurse looming over him, asking him questions. He hoped he hadn't rambled too much… but the painkillers seemed to make him less guarded than usual. Case and point, while he had been last talking with… with… _what was his name… what was his name…?_ _Z… Z… Zed…? Zey? Zz…_ Zeb. That was it. _Right…?_

Once the water in his lungs—and subsequent pneumonia that had had all the doctors up in arms and created an almost constant hum around his bed—had cleared up, they had moved him down to the regular ward. And promptly decreased the painkillers. He had been less than happy about that, as such a move meant that his mental function was back up to par. He wished he could have stayed in that blissful area where the real world—and threats to his life—didn't actually exist.

The return to reality meant that he had to acknowledge what had happened—along with the fact that he _remembered_ very little. Only the inevitable nightmares tried to paint pictures in his mind—and most had little to no significance to his waking self. It was an unreal sensation, knowing that the nightmares knew more about the past several weeks than he did in the waking world.

The nurses had also quickly learned that shaking him awake from a nightmare was not the way to deal with things.

Reality also meant that he had to face the injuries that he would be dealing with for months. They had encased his entire arm, from elbow to fingertips, in a hard cast, with no less than seventeen pins and plates holding the bones of his fingers and hand in proper position. It had apparently taken three surgeries that he didn't remember to get it that good.

It hurt like hell, at the best of times. Especially when the painkillers wore off, though he didn't like the fuzzy feeling that they gave him. He felt as if he were trying to function in a fog.

He had seen the surgeon once, and had been told pointblank that he would be very lucky if he got full range of motion back. They were optimistic that it would at least be functional at the end. _There went any aspirations of being a professional pianist…_ Not that he played the piano, of course.

To top off his steadily worsening day—because the painkillers were not working anymore, but had left behind the fuzzy headed feeling—Mrs. Jones herself had shown up to pay a social visit.

"Absolutely not." He glared at her, but the effect was weakened by the fact that he was still tucked into the hospital bed, wearing the regulation flimsy gown, pale as the sheets behind him—apart from the still spectacular bruising that was visible on his face and arms—and only let out of bed for supervised trips to the bathroom. He was still suffering from severe exhaustion and dizziness—attributed to the fact that his lungs had been half-full of water by the time he got to the hospital. They weren't taking any risks, and though he grumbled, he personally agreed.

That didn't change the fact that he didn't agree with Jones' solutions.

She just stared at him, with the same blank gaze that she had seemed to perfect over the months he had known her. "We've been through this before, Alex." She was apparently trying a different approach, with a patient tone of voice, but Alex was having none of it. "Your conditions for staying in your own place were very clear. So long as you kept up with your classes, cooperated with the psychiatrist, and were in _good general health_ , you could live on your own. Through no fault of your own, you are _not_ in good general health anymore—and this is not _me_ saying this, but a judge."

Alex scowled at her. Of course, a judge would do her dirty work. She would have influenced him heavily, no doubt.

"Alex, you have to understand our position. You are unable to use your hand for the time being. Your surgeon said that the cast wouldn't be coming off for several weeks yet, and even then, your range of motion will be quite limited. If someone tries to attack you, you would be at a grave disadvantage. Not to mention that normal everyday tasks are going to be impeded. We really do have your best interests at heart."

Alex huffed, but he _knew_ that arguing wasn't going to get him anywhere. From the set of her face and the tone of her voice, he _knew_ she wasn't going to budge.

That didn't mean he had to be happy about it though.

"Fine."

She didn't smile, but gave him a patronizing look he had come to loathe. "We'll reconsider in a couple of months. This doesn't have to be permanent."

_Just until they had their agenda taken care of…_

Although Jones made some rather pertinent points, he was convinced he could still take care of himself—much better than anyone MI6 assigned to him could. It wasn't as if his hand made him an invalid…

A quiet click behind him signaled the latest addition of painkillers to his system—all kept on a carefully controlled, automatic system—and he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. He _hated_ the medication, but it dulled the persistent fire that currently made up his hand and arm.

He scowled as he realized that Jones hadn't missed the slight change either, and her expression changed from patronizing to slight pity.

_Who knew she still had emotions…?_

"No matter how determined you may be, Alex, you're still only human. You are allowed to feel things."

He refused to meet her gaze, afraid of what else he would find there. He cast around for all the questions he had thought up, trying to get them onto another track of conversation—he knew he had lost that battle. "How… how long was I missing?" For some reason, they hadn't thought to give him a date or anything like that.

"It's been nearly four weeks since your abduction. You were there for just over three, before the SAS stumbled across your position."

His brain caught onto one word. " _Stumbled_?"

Mrs. Jones sighed heavily. "I'm not sure you realize how lucky you are that the SAS infiltrated that building. There were no clues left in your flat—though there were signs of a struggle and blood. No one had placed a hit on you; the criminal world was silent as to your whereabouts. When you turned up, the SAS had no more information, aside from the fact that you had been held in an old base for a Nazi-based terrorist cell and that you had been… tortured."

Alex swallowed and realized his mistake. He had opened up this avenue of conversation, without fully thinking the ramifications through. This was where the questioning began—and he had no desire to rehash the little that he knew. It was bad enough that the memories haunted him in his sleep, after which he had trouble remembering what it was that unnerved him so much.

He clenched his palm, feeling the perspiration start, as his thoughts started bouncing around his head. He didn't know how he was expected to answer anything, when he had trouble remembering it in the first place. He didn't like to ponder the things that he was unsure of.

"Do you know who they were Alex? Why they grabbed _you_?"

His breathing quickened, setting up an ache in his healing ribs. No, he didn't _know_. He didn't know anything about the past couple of weeks. Very little filtered through his nightmares—aside from the sheer panic and terror—and even that he wasn't entirely sure was due to his experiences.

_"Shall we start with the easy questions again?"_

Alex blinked. The voice was menacing and familiar… It was fuzzy… Why didn't he _know_? What had happened?

The water.

The burning in his lungs.

Alex's breath caught in his throat. _He knew… of course he knew! Of course,_ he knew who they were. They had shouted it had him so many times, mocked him with it. Tried to find out information. Knowing… _knowing…_

It was as if someone had grabbed onto his brain and _yanked_ , pouring memories and sensations into his mind and consciousness. He gasped for breath, feeling a sickly drowning sensation—despite the fact that there was plenty of oxygen—trembling as memories came rushing back and blocking out reality.

_"We_ know _MI6 is on to us. We know things you couldn't even imagine."_

He jerked away when a hand touched his arm, crashing into something hard. The wave of pain that traveled up his arm brought him back to himself, having jarred it against the bed rails that were supposed to discourage his penchant for wandering. This time, they had prevented him from falling to the floor and further injuring himself.

_Then_ he remembered what had terrified him. The sinking realization that he wasn't safe anymore—and the key piece of information they had revealed. "There's a mole in MI6."

Mrs. Jones' almost concerned expression, turned to one of minor shock, and the suspicion. "A mole?"

He bobbed his head, cradling his throbbing arm, remembering the taunts from the man. "They knew about our meetings—assumed that I was receiving information… or something." That had been the gist of the questions… right? He remembered their demands for answers…

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "And just who would _they_ be?"

Alex blinked. The name… the name… It had been there one moment, gone the next… _What was the name?_ "He said… uhm… Re… re… _reformed SCORPIA_." The name slid up from a recess of his brain, leaving behind a slippery, unconvinced feeling.

The carefully bland look on Mrs. Jones' face told him more than he wanted to know.

_She had known_.

Alex's anger flared up, surpassing any emotion he had felt in the past several weeks. "You _knew_?" He spat the words at her, feeling the rush of adrenaline and anger flooded his system. "You _knew_ about them, and you didn't think to _mention_ it to me?"

"There wasn't—"

He shook his head, cutting her off. "They're SCORPIA! How long have they wanted me dead? Not enough time in our weekly meetings?"

"Alex—"

"Don't, _Alex_ , me." He tried to rein in his anger, tried to find the detached calculation that he would need to spit vitriol at her, but it was flying wildly out of control. As if the first time he had let it loose, it was taking on a mind of its own. "You knew about those bastards. You knew they were back. And you didn't even give me any warning. _Let's just keep Alex on his leash, don't tell him anything._ Don't bother telling _me_ that the people who want me dead are back in business!"

Mrs. Jones' lips pressed into a thin line. "That's not—"

He wasn't even listening to her though, gesticulating wildly, as he was convinced the fault of the situation fell more and more on her own shoulders. "No. You just wanted to pretend everything was normal. Forget about the fact that _maybe_ I would survive longer if I actually had some information _for once_. Instead of just leaving it up to luck!" He was close to yelling, and the words were starting to catch in his throat, as he scrambled for breath. "And let's not forget about the _mole_ in the company!"

A glimmer of something in her eye caught his. "Alex, calm—"

It only served to spur him on. "Don't you _dare_ tell me. To. _Calm. Down!_ " His voice hit an unnaturally high point, and he wasn't sure where the anger had turned into abject terror. Terror so complete that he started shivering. "You know! You knew and you didn't say _anything._ And then they decided to kidnap me, because they thought _I_ would have information. Useful information. Then they kept _torturing_ me, because surely, Alex Rider of all people would have MI6's most important intel in his mind!"

Then the coughing hit.

Sharp, sudden pain, that seemed to spread down through his entire chest, seizing up the muscles and tearing his lungs out. Breathing in just wasn't working. He gasped for breath, and with each unsuccessful breath, he felt like his heart had burst into shards, as he scrambled to find air. He scrambled to get away from the drowning sensation in his lungs.

He could hear alarms all around him suddenly going off, as he tried to find the air, but only succeeding in coughing more. One alarm signified the rapid—far too rapid—beating of his heart. _It was still beating…_ Another alarm was a mere high-pitched whine that seemed to go along with his lack of air.

He couldn't breathe and the crushing sensation was back.

SCOPRIA was back.

_"I'd say sorry, but really, you brought this on yourself."_

They were going to kill him.

_"When did MI6 start investigating our presence?"_

Jones had kept the information from him.

_"Do you know how many bones there are in your hand, Rider?"_

There was no way he was going to be normal again…

He still couldn't _breathe_.

A hand pushed him back against the bed, pressing down on his chest, and he instinctively fought against it. They won in the end though, because he was still fighting against the lack of air in his lungs.

Then, as a heavy feeling started to drift up his arms, his panic notched up another couple of degrees.

He tried to struggle, he really did, but it was all too much for him.

He just wanted to be alone.

Why couldn't they just leave him…?

Someone slid a mask of cool plastic across his mouth and nose, causing a rush of air across his face. His muscles relaxed not long after, and _finally_ , he was able to breathe again.

The murmur of voices wasn't enough to bring him out of his sudden exhaustion, but the panic had died down considerably—forcibly. He let himself slip asleep without even thinking about it, just followed the pull of whatever drugs they had used on him.

A small part wondered how much he would be able to remember later…

For now though, he slept.

* * *

He was beyond exhausted. His chest still hurt—though not as much as before—his shoulder was protesting the weight of the cast on his arm, and he felt as if someone were taking his brain and running it through a masher before placing it back and waking him up. All in all, he was in a rather bad mood—which wasn't unusual for the past week.

The doctors and nurses had seemed to take his mood swings in stride, only chiding him when it got to be what they perceived as self-destructive—such as when he tried to avoid taking the pain medications. They didn't believe him when he said it just made everything seem worse. He couldn't stand the fuzzy feeling that inevitably overcame him.

They had also patiently tried to explain to him that he had worked himself into a state of a panic attack, exacerbated by the fact that his lungs had still been healing. They claimed that it wouldn't get magically better if he didn't do anything about it—like talk to his therapist, but Alex had just resolved to never let it get that far again.

It had worked relatively well so far. He had pretty much just emotionally shut down.

That hadn't stopped a resurgence of the same feelings several days later, when something someone had said or done had set him off again. Only this time, he had managed to keep it under control. They hadn't even noticed.

Of course, to him, it brought even more questions. Questions that he wasn't sure how to answer.

Now, days later, he was waiting for the MI6 approved escort that would take him to his new residence. His new prison. What a wonderful birthday present. Not. Mrs. Jones had made it clear that he wasn't returning to his previous flat, claiming that everything he had need of was already moved out. He read between the lines and gathered that they hadn't expected to have him coming back to the country in anything but a body bag. But what were they supposed to expect, after so many weeks…?

Although he had fought tooth and nail, there had been no changing Jones' mind. After assuring him that she would _personally_ look into the presence of a mole in the company—and hadn't he been angry to find out that she was only _now_ doing something—she had bulldozed on with her plans of placing him with an agent for the foreseeable future. Until he was deemed competent again.

The only _small_ relief had been that the change in residence had only been that. He would still attend the same school—though he was sure he would get a whole boatload of strange looks for missing over a month of school and then turning up with a casted arm and hand and healing bruises. But at the very least, he wouldn't be starting all over again. He hated that.

They had finally discharged him, with strict instructions to continue taking all the medications—which he wouldn't—and to come back in 6-8 weeks for a checkup on his hand—which he would. After that, they had taken him to a nondescript lobby and told to wait for further instructions.

After nearly an hour of waiting, a stereotypical suit stepped into the lobby. Alex sincerely hoped that that wasn't to be his new guardian. The man looked like he could spit nails while torturing a defenseless kitty—not exactly the type of person Alex wanted to find himself with for weeks.

"Rider?"

Alex couldn't resist rolling his eyes— _who else would I be?_ —before nodding.

"I'm to escort you to your new residence."

Alex scowled, but followed the man out of the hospital and into the brisk February air. It was the first time he remembered being out of doors in the past month and a half… they hadn't dared let him out for supervised walks, on account of the chill being too much for his lungs. As it was, they expected him to stay bundled up for a while, unless he really wanted another coughing fit.

At least his guardian seemed to be elusive for the time being. Perhaps there was hope…? _No, probably not_. He slid into the backseat of the regulation car, being careful of his sling and cast, and settled for scowling at the world in general.

After all, if MI6 hadn't thrown him into the life of a spy at such an unnaturally young age, he wouldn't have ever had enemies that didn't like to stay dead—or enemies that wanted his blood for revenge…

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind and instead focused on the passing familiar London streets. It felt like forever since he had been in the heart of London. Forever since he had last been a patient at St. Dominic's—though in reality, it had hardly been six months. He hadn't gone anywhere near there since _then_ , avoiding the memories like the plague.

He wished he could do the same with MI6 headquarters, but Mrs. Jones had called him in far too regularly for that to happen. Perhaps if he had been a model student… but being in trouble at school and with the shrink was nothing new as far as he was concerned, although Mrs. Jones had always insisted that _something_ was going to have to change.

It seemed she had gotten her wish after all.

They drove through the busy streets of the city, slowly making their way out of the heart and into the suburbs. It seemed strange, as they passed flat complex after flat complex, until they turned into a rather ordinary looking residential area. Cookie cutter houses, with the only variation being in the color of the trim. Each house seemed to have its own 4.6-meter yard, complete with tacky yard ornament (their choice of garden gnome, flamingo, rabbit, or toad), and fenced in by a short white or grey fence. It seemed that expensive cars were the norm as well.

_Plenty of joyriding options? Or the need for a quick getaway?_

He wasn't completely surprised when they pulled into the driveway of one of the cookie cutter houses, nor when his escort expected him to follow along, like a lost puppy. Scowl firmly fixed on his face, he followed the man up the front steps of the house, taking into account the few security risks of the surrounding places. There were no conveniently placed trees or other such things near the second floor. While that would not provide enemies with easy access, it also meant that escaping from there would likely mean injuries. As well, the fence was nothing more than decoration and Alex doubted that it would hold up very well to a determined machine gun.

His thoughts were cut off when the front door opened. They were both ushered into the house by a middle-aged man, and while Alex couldn't see anything obviously wrong with him, he wondered just what had happened that this man had been saddled with _him_.

"Markus Fletch, this is Alex." The nameless suit gestured in a careless manner toward Alex. "You should have already been briefed on his situation."

Alex gave him his best scowl, but the man, Markus Fletch, seemed unaffected by it. _Hmm_ … it seemed that Jones had warned him. Alex tried not to let his discomfort at the strange surroundings show, and instead waited, scowling, for the suit to leave, and for _Markus_ to show him to his room.

It didn't take long.

After several long moments of sizing each other up, Markus led the way up the stairs to a rather unremarkable room. The walls were a greyish green color, with a stark white bedspread and an empty desk. _Unimpressive_. But it was to be his _home_ for the time being.

Not that he really intended to stick around for much longer than the two to three months it took to get his hand functioning again.

"Mrs. Jones said that you'd be starting school up again at the end of the weekend. She said you've been out of class for a while, so the papers in the desk are your make up work." Markus leaned against the door frame, studying Alex with a critical gaze. "With school I'll take you in, in the mornings, and pick you up as soon as classes get out in the afternoon. No dallying. I'll let you know when meals are served. Other than that… it's up to you. This isn't a _babysitting_ service, so I won't treat you like a baby. You're responsible for taking your meds, but if I find out that you've been irresponsible, that will have to be changed. Don't test me."

They glared each other down, Alex furious at the insinuation. Clearly, the briefing hadn't been very complete.

Just as well.

Alex wasn't going to give him anything more. But Jones' request that he at least try to make things work was ringing in his ears. He had _claimed_ that he would be respectful, but the problem was, anyone who tried to treat him like a normal teenager was _patronizing_ him. They didn't understand that he had been through too much to be considered _normal_. "And what exactly did you do to get saddled with a poor job like this from MI6?"

The man smirked, matching Alex's scowl bit for bit. "I'm not MI6. I'm MI5. Taking on bratty spoiled kids who've managed to hack off the wrong people… well… that's my job." He turned and left, but not without throwing a casual remark back over his shoulder. "And so far, you seem to be the epitome of that definition."

Alex dearly wished for something to throw at the agent, but his things were currently bundled up in his duffel, making throwing a bit difficult. Instead, he settled for slamming his door with as much force as he could possibly manage.

He didn't trust that man, but then, he didn't trust anyone anymore.

Yet, this seemed to be the arrangement that Jones had wanted from the beginning.

He was beginning to think she was more than a bit off her rocker than he first suspected.

With nothing better to do, he lay down on the bed, being careful of his arm all the while. He was going to have to figure out a way to convince Jones that this whole idea was pointless. He had been perfectly capable of living on his own, only months earlier, and as of right now, he didn't trust anyone MI6 appointed to keep him any safer.

Alex swore he was going to make Markus Fletch's life as miserable as possible. Maybe _then_ , Mrs. Jones would finally reconsider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safe and sound. Or is he...?


	7. Glimpses

The first few days in the house had been awkward to say the least. Alex did his best to avoid _Markus_ , while plotting his revenge at the same time. He wasn't quite sure what that would be, but… perhaps it would serve twofold and get a message across to Jones as well. He didn't need to be _babysat_.

Everything about the man unnerved him—though he suspected that it was more because their personalities clashed, rather than anything overly sinister. The house was too noisy, everything seemed out of place, and he felt like a complete outsider. Although his flat had been remarkably empty and impersonal, it had been _his_ place. Here… the smallest thing seemed to distract his already distracted mind, conjuring up plots of grandeur and fear. Something he definitely didn't need more of in his life.

While the days had been miserable, with Alex wanting nothing to do with the man who was now supposedly his guardian, the nights were the worst. He only took a half dose of the painkillers he was supposed to be taking—not liking the hazy and deadened sensations he felt while on it—meaning that his arm _always_ ached. At night, it just seemed to grow worse.

That, coupled with the increase in intensity of the nightmares… meant he was grouchy and miserable in the mornings. He couldn't risk sleeping during the day either—as the nightmares weren't confined to the night time. So instead, he attempted to catch up on all the missed coursework he had—most of which were in classes that he had already been struggling in.

He held no illusions that his grades were going to be abysmal for the term, something that he _didn't_ need. After all, Jones was a stickler for grades, and he had been barely scraping by with the minimum before. The only classes he had been somewhat succeeding in were the languages and government classes. Certainly not the core classes that he needed if he had any hope of getting anywhere in life.

By the time Monday had rolled around, Alex was most definitely not looking forward to going back to the school. It had been weeks since he had last attended and he was sure that his classmates—no matter how uninteresting he had been before—were going to try to hound him with questions. Who knew when the rumors would start up again…?

He didn't even manage to start his morning out on the right foot. He had woken far too early, with a nightmare cutting into his much-needed sleep. The usual feelings of disorientation and confusion quickly passed, yet once more, he wasn't entirely sure what he had dreamt about. He congratulated himself on keeping Markus from noticing as he stumbled into the shower at only a mildly insane hour. His excuse was, since he had the cast, showering was more difficult.

Alex had proceeded through breakfast with the silent treatment that had grown almost comfortably familiar in the past two days. He took his medicine as ordered, palming the second painkiller, as well as the anxiety medication. So long as he kept up the pretense, no one needed to know that he wasn't taking _everything_ he was supposed to. After all, Markus had said that _he_ was responsible for himself.

After breakfast, Alex grabbed his school bag, complete with his few attempts at catchup work, and followed Markus out to the car. The drive was silent, and Alex entertained himself with memorizing the turns needed to get from the house to the school. It wasn't very far away; he could have easily walked it in twenty minutes—if they ever allowed him that luxury. Unfortunately, it was also in the opposite direction of where his apartment had been. He doubted that he would be able to sneak out of the house—which meant that if he wanted to go back there, he'd have to do it some other way.

"I'll be here when you get out of classes," Markus said, breaking the silence as they pulled up in front of the school. "If anything goes wrong, you have my number. Don't leave the school for any reason. And _behave_. I don't want to be called in because you did something stupid."

Alex scowled at the man. For a _moment_ , he had almost seemed human. Then he tacked on the _stupid_ comment, and Alex's estimation of him plummeted right back down to where it had been before. "Yeah, whatever." _As if you'd be any help anyway._ Before the man could say anything else, he climbed out of the car and gave the door a resounding slam. It only succeeded in drawing curious gazes his way and a glare from Markus.

His lips pressed into a thin line, suddenly feeling like a bug under a microscope as people looked in his direction. He could almost hear them start whispering. _Rider's back. It's been so long… Look at his arm…_ He wanted to shudder, but he forced it down. Forced it away.

_Can't show weakness_.

He slipped into the crowd of students, feeling his barriers go up immediately. Some were staring, while others continued as if he weren't even there. After a while though, he had blended well enough into the background. His shoulders still twitched whenever someone came too near him, or swept inside his bubble of protection, but for a few seconds at least, he felt invisible.

He felt absurdly protective of his hand and arm, holding it as close to his body as he could manage with the sling. Just the mere thought of someone brushing up against it wrong had him tensing in advance, and he wondered how he was going to get through the day. How he was going to pretend to be normal. Any progress toward that _normal_ he had made before had been reset.

It felt as if all eyes were on him. Watching him. Waiting for… _something_. But whenever he looked, all the other students seemed to be ignoring his existence.

He knew he had been paranoid before, but this was just…

He swallowed, weaving his way through the crowd, avoiding the glances in his direction, avoiding the looks—even from the younger students—that wondered _why_ he was back. Even though there were still ten minutes before his class began, he slid into the last seat in the back corner. At least in _this_ class, there wouldn't be anyone behind him. And if he were lucky, the seats closest to him would be empty as well. Such was the life of being the strange aloof enigma in the class. He knew it wasn't healthy—he _had_ to listen to the psychologist, so he couldn't help but recognize the little truth in their words about his paranoia.

Taking what he hoped was a calming breath he settled into his chair and tried to work a little more on the back coursework. Classes hadn't even started and he already felt like he was walking on a tight rope. A rope that was bound to vanish as soon as it became inconvenient.

And as probability went, the day was only going to get worse.

* * *

The day just kept getting worse.

The moment his last class before lunch recess got out, Alex was the first out of the room and into the rapidly filling halls. Sometime in the middle of the last class, the all too familiar catch in his chest and allover panicked feeling had come over him. It had been all he could do to not leave the class in the middle of the period. Although being in the middle of the halls in the midst of the hoards was not any better, he knew it was the fastest route to a place his brain had tagged as safe.

Previous experience with the school told him that there were few _safe_ locations during the lunch recess. However, only those that were cramming for exams tended to venture into the library during that hour. Most everyone took that hour to find human companionship. Alex wanted none of that. He wanted to be alone.

It was with a keen sense of desperation that he edged into the back of the library without the librarian noticing. If no one knew he was there, it would be best. By then, he felt the icy grip in his chest as he struggled to breathe—not because of any physical problems, but because that was just how his body reacted. Anyone who saw him might have thought that he had just gotten out of PE, or something of the sort, and he was out of breath. Or they might have caught on…

As it was, he was struggling to bring himself together, feeling as if someone were pulling him apart at the seams.

_Not now!_

This was _not_ the time for this.

Only the small part of his brain screaming at him to stay in place, kept him from bolting from the school all together. Rationally, he knew that that would only succeed in bringing to light his current plight to _them_. He wasn't going to give them that. He had hidden it well enough.

His free hand gripped his hair, trying to calm down his frantic breathing.

Reason told him that panicking was only making things worse.

_"…you hardly try to defend yourself…"_

His brain told him there was no other way.

Reason told him that if he would just stop and breathe for a moment, it would get better.

_The air was choking in his lungs… It had been so long…_

His brain told him the air was gone.

_"…you'll tell us, it'll just take some_ time _."_

He pressed himself into the furthest corner of the library, where there no windows, no doors, and most importantly, no watchful eyes. Only a worn and abandoned chair, pressed up against the wall.

His refuge.

Reason told him that someone nearby might be able to help.

_"…the mighty have fallen…"_

His brain told him that such a thing was impossible. _No one could help_.

He tried to gasp in more air—and this time it worked—before sinking back into the chair.

He shuddered, cold seeping into his bones, as reality reasserted itself around him. The panic and paranoia were still there, but lessened to the point where he could actually _listen_ to the rational side. He _was_ in control. He wasn't _there_ anymore. He pulled his jacket out of his bag and slid it over his shoulders—not being able to slip his casted arm through without difficulty.

A glance at his watch told him that he had just over thirty minutes to regain his wits about him and pretend that everything was normal. This time, when he took in a deep breath, it served to relax him a little more.

For now, he just felt numb, and like he was missing pieces of the puzzle.

His paranoia in classes was at an all-time high—worse than when he had started at the school. Even sitting in the very back of his classes, he had still felt subjected to the stares of his peers—and really, they weren't his peers. They were essentially _babies_ compared to what he had already been through. They would never survive in his world.

The last class of the morning though had apparently brought him to his tipping point. Very few people had had the guts to ask him about his hand—he had given them a terse story about some crushing accident at work, before ignoring them—but there were always one or two that tried to stare at him the entire class. The last class had messed with his preferred seating arrangement, forcing him into the middle of the room, and the staring classmates were that much closer.

He had twitched all throughout the class, trying desperately to portray a façade of normal. Until the teacher had gone off on a tangent talking about slogans and catch phrases of different groups—and latched onto one that had been far too close to a memory than he liked.

Even now, with nearly a full thirty minutes of distance, he shuddered. The phrase had been drilled into his mind over the past several months, made worse in the past several weeks, and was once again at the forefront of his mind.

_SCORPIA never forgives. SCORPIA never forgets._

* * *

It was a cold day.

At the moment though, with his heart racing—as he was sure he would be found out—he didn't really notice the bite to the wind anymore.

It had been over a week since the new arrangement had started and he liked to think that he had played the part of annoyed yet bratty teen well enough to fool Markus into thinking that he was a normal teenager. It was a mask he was far too used to playing—and sometimes, he wasn't sure where the mask ended and his real thoughts and feelings started.

Although there had always been an annoyed snap to his words when they conversed—which was rare, because Alex hardly said anything nowadays—there had slowly come the acknowledgement that Alex hadn't strayed from his orders. Or so Markus thought.

After a week of playing nice though, Alex had _plans_. He had no desire to lie down and roll over for MI6. They might be his guardians on paper, but they had _no_ control over him. He was quickly running out of options though, and he had to admit that Jones had at least been right with the fact that things couldn't continue as they had been.

He disagreed with her solution though.

It was long past time to take things into his own hands.

It was something he had toyed with long before he was kidnapped. Although for most of the time he had played by Jones' rules and let them know whenever he was going places, there were a handful of times he had dropped the mobile and struck out on his own—if only for a couple of hours. It was during those excursions that the plans had started forming, and he had started collecting… No one had been the wiser.

Now, he needed to get them back.

He knew MI6 still had possession of the flat, but most of his things had been returned to him. However, he knew how to pick a lock— _thank you, Ian_ —and had hidden things around the flat. No one would have found the items, because they wouldn't have seen them. _That_ was just how he liked it.

After a week of playing the perfect student, he had skipped out of his afternoon classes and taken to the streets—making sure to ditch his mobile in his customary spot in the library. If things went according to plan, he would be back at the school before anyone really started looking for him. Then, he would be free to implement the next step of his plan.

He pulled the hood up his jacket up and followed the stream of foot traffic though the familiar roads.

No one would notice him.

* * *

Only a couple blocks away from his flat, the entire plan spiraled wildly out of control.

In the alleyway he had taken dozens of times— _Mistake! Stupid!_ —an arm reached out and grabbed him in a choke hold.

Panic immediately flooded his system, floundering for a solution and a quick way to talk himself out of the situation.

"And just what do you think you're doing here?" The voice spoke into his ear, casting a rush of warm air that sent shivers up his spine. "I think the little birdie is a little far away from his safe house. Don't you?"

Alex forced back a shudder, trying to will the utter panic away. This was _not_ MI6— _or MI5_. They had not caught up with him. They were not getting after him for breaking his agreement. _This_ was someone else.

"Thought it would be wise to tempt fate, huh?" The grip tightened ever so slightly, cutting off the air. "I guess you're stupider than we thought."

Alex clawed at the arm, but it was pointless. With one arm useless and immobilized in the sling, he wasn't much of a threat to anyone. He couldn't fight—and Mrs. Jones' words of warning came back to him. _This_ was why they didn't want him on his own…

"Let's get straight to the point, shall we Rider? We know all about you. We know your history—after all; it wasn't _much_ of a secret. We know all about the people you've been in contact with—so don't bother trying to play coy." The pressure released slightly. "And don't even _think_ about trying to turn around. I'll let you go… _eventually_."

Alex swallowed, trying to calm the panic in his system. He needed to be able to think rationally. He had to take every opportunity given to him.

"So, how about we remind you about the little deal we made, huh?"

Alex blinked.

_The deal…_

_The deal…_

_The deal…_

_"Tell us, Rider! Where can we find it?"_

His stomach dropped as hazy memories of the… _first week…?_ of the interrogation drifted through his mind. The last day was, for once, almost clear, but the other days were the usual vague feelings. Unfocused. Indistinct.

He couldn't remember any of it.

"We told you, you'd come to rue the day that you crossed us—and what do you think you did by denying us the information that is rightfully ours?"

_"You want this to end? Just tell us."_

_"I don't know! I don't know! I don't know!"_

_Pain. Fiery. Disconnected_.

"Then you got lucky, so we thought we should give you another chance to makes things right. You _know_ where the information is. You _know_ what it is and how to get it."

_"You know what to do, Rider."_

"So, I suggest, before you try to plan any kind of _smart_ move that you hand it over. Or we might just have to take you back for some… _reconditioning_."

Alex gasped for air, as the grip was released, falling to his knees at the sudden rush of air.

"We'll be in contact Rider." A hand shoved a paper into his pocket. "Don't think we don't know where you're staying. You know what we're looking for, so we'll give you a chance to redeem yourself. You're living on borrowed time, Rider."

He didn't even try to turn around, still trying to gasp for air. He heard the crunch of gravel as whoever it was, slipped away. After a moment, there was the sound of a car speeding away in the opposite direction.

His limbs were shaking, his heart was racing, and the sense of impending doom was crushing the few thoughts that were still tumbling coherently in his mind. On automatic, he nearly ran the last couple of blocks to his old flat complex, stumbled up the stairs, and picked the lock with a disoriented and unfocused determination that would have impressed anyone.

He didn't care though.

The threat was ringing in his ears.

_He was supposed to_ know _the answers…_

The uncontrollable panic washed over him as the door shut behind him, and he sank down onto the floor as he tried to forget just how messed up his life really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This roller-coaster of a ride is just getting started. What did you think?


	8. Motion

A new guardian.

A new house.

A new, unfamiliar, bedroom.

But nothing had actually changed.

It had been just over a month and a half since he had been released from the hospital; nearly three months since he had been attempting to be a regular student in the first place. He had given up since then, watching his grades in almost every class suffer dismally as his concentration left him, as his classmates segregated him more and more, and as even the teachers started getting after him for his inattention. He knew it was only a matter of time before they decided that he wasn't a suitable student and kicked him out.

What would happen then, he didn't know.

He had gone through five different guardians, each one lasting a shorter amount of time than the last. Markus had been the longest—perhaps because with him, Alex had _almost_ tried—lasting for three weeks. But then _something_ had happened—and Alex couldn't for the life of him remember what. All he knew what that the resulting confrontation had led to shattered china plates and Alex escaping to his old flat. They found him there hours later and the MI6 agents had dragged him to his new placement.

That had been the start of the end.

The second guardian had lasted _almost_ two weeks, but the third, fourth, and fifth… not even a week. Each time, _something_ happened. A blank space within his brain. Some sort of attack—from Alex—on his guardian. This resulted in MI6 agents hunting him across London, usually finding him in some rundown location hours later, with little recollection of how he got there.

Jones—and his psychologist—had tried to give him a spiel about anger management, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He had bigger problems on his mind than whatever the problems were with his guardians. Most notably the _lack_ of memory and… the _other_ aspects.

Twice more, _they_ had found him, tracked him down, and threatened him. They wanted information, but what information he didn't know. They claimed he did. But he _didn't_. And even if he did, he wasn't going to give it to them. He wasn't going to turn traitor—because either way, it was going to get him killed in the end.

He was now onto his sixth guardian, a middle-aged woman who seemed more like a drill sergeant than anything else. And an MI6 employee, as well. He suspected that it was Jones' latest attempt at getting him to behave. To _cooperate_.

The first day had already gone terribly—his attempts at giving her the silent treatment had only succeeded in her all but trapping him in the dining room after their first supper. He had snapped at her, she had snapped back with equal force, and in the end, he had gone to bed with woozy thoughts because she prevented him from palming the medication he didn't want to take.

In all honesty, the medication only made things worse, not better. He could deal with the pain—it only throbbed now, after all. The anxiety was manageable—because he had dealt with it well enough before. He _couldn't_ deal with the fuzziness that the medications gave him, the indistinctness to his thoughts that made everything feel like a threat.

Even though he had gone to bed, every creak and noise in the house had had him staying awake for hours with the sheer paranoia that _they_ were coming to get him again. After all, he hadn't been safe in his own, protected, flat, so why would it be different here?

That morning, he had stumbled out of bed and into the shower in a sheer daze. His limbs had been shaking in a way that screamed of prolonged sleep deprivation—but he had to function in classes. He couldn't take the meds. There was no way. Not if he had any hope of gleaning _anything_ in his classes that morning. However, he had a feeling that _Madam Sergeant_ —because he had stopped paying attention long before they had even been formally introduced—wasn't going to take no for an answer.

And he, unfortunately, held no illusions that she couldn't strong-arm him into doing exactly what she wanted—which involved him being a submissive and respectful teenager. Everything he wasn't.

A hand banged on his door, startling him out of the exhausted daze he had fallen into. "I expect you downstairs in ten minutes!" She screeched, "Don't make me come get you _again_."

He shuddered at the memory. She had all but dragged him downstairs the night before. They had gone over the standard rules of the house, most of which included her snapping at him for his continued inattention. He couldn't help it though. There were too many windows and she had placed him right in front of _all_ of them.

Then had come the battle of wills. Which, for the first time in a long time, he had lost miserably at.

Perhaps if he tried to play by her rules… he could get away without taking the meds.

Grabbing the little coursework he had managed to accomplish before the meds had done away with his reasoning capabilities, he stuffed it into his backpack, and then headed downstairs. At the very least, he could eat something and maybe pacify her for the time being.

Somehow, he doubted that it would work.

* * *

The room seemed indistinct at the edges, giving it a strange quality. Like a dream state. Even the chatter and sound of his fellow classmates seemed distorted, to the extent that he felt fearfully vulnerable to them.

 _Anything could happen_.

He inevitably flinched at every out of place sound—something that was frequent in such a place.

This was the fifth day he had attended school in such a state, but a week since his reasoning capabilities had shut off. He knew that much, but beyond that…

He couldn't focus anymore, couldn't even pretend to hold interest in his classes, because everything was a trigger for fear and panic. Even sitting in the back, with his chair as close to the comfort of the wall as possible, hadn't lessened the sheer terror of going into his classes, of going among the students that seemed to think that everything was okay.

He couldn't deal with it.

His skin felt stretched tight against his bones, itchy and restless. Waiting. _Waiting for the next move._

He hadn't turned in his homework in more than a week, because it was all piling up in his room, not done. Not even touched. He couldn't think _anywhere_. Everything, even nonthreatening actions toward him, were taken as a bodily threat. He fought against it, a small part of his brain rebelling, but he couldn't break out of it.

He knew it was the meds.

There was no doubt in his mind.

But _Madam Sergeant_ had been exacting. She didn't so much as give him _time_ to regain his wits—even in the evening. Every morning, afternoon, and evening, she all but forced fed him the medications. To the point where he almost went along willingly, because that was the point, right? It was supposed to help.

Supposed to make him feel better.

But it wasn't.

Only a small portion of his brain tried to rebel. He had tried so hard in those first few days, even to the point of throwing it up. _She_ had caught him at it—and only forced him to take more. That same afternoon, she had showed up with a _new and improved_ version—one that lasted longer, and ensured his continued compliance. Claimed that because he was throwing up, he was clearly still in too much pain. She even had proof of the order from MI6… and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

Someone seated next to him was talking abnormally loudly—chattering on about someone or another—grating at his already frayed nerves. And classes hadn't even started.

 _Not a threat._ Yet it felt like it.

Alex gripped his hair, trying to block out the crashing waves of sound and sensation around him.

He couldn't _think_.

He couldn't _breathe_.

Something was going to happen.

He knew it.

 _They_ had found him again. Pouncing while he was hiding in his spot in the library during the lunch recess the day before. They had demanded answers—telling him that they were going to go looking themselves soon.

_Looking…?_

_Looking for what?_

_He couldn't remember…_

But yet… He couldn't let that happen.

There was… there was… information that in the wrong hands would only serve to get a lot of people killed.

But he didn't know any of it.

Didn't remember.

Someone threw down a book next to him and he flinched. He could feel people watching him. Not his classmates. _Them_. _They_ were there, waiting for him to try something. He could _feel_ it.

The windows weren't safe.

The doors weren't safe.

Nowhere was _safe_.

Class started, the momentary silence deafening, and only served to increase his anxiety rather than decrease it. The usually unheard sounds, sounded louder than ever before. The squeak as someone rocked in their chair. The tap of someone clicking their pen impatiently. The scratch of pencils on paper, by those that actually cared about the class. Eventually, the teacher's voice picked up, but it blended into the background noise, until it was nothing more than a blur of sound. There was the sound of people fidgeting in chairs, doors down the hall opening and shutting. The sounds of someone rummaging through their bag, metal clinking on metal— _a gun! A gun!_ —and pulling out a set of fine pens amongst a handful of coins.

Alex bit back the small whimper of relief, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. It had never been this bad before. His nerves felt stretched taunt, his heartbeat racing. A couple of classmates glanced at him strangely, and he sunk down in his seat, trying to drown out the noises of the classroom. The perfectly normal noises of people carrying out normal, average lives. The sounds of everyone, except himself.

He felt sick to his stomach.

_"You're not listening Rider. I thought you of all people would know better than that."_

He jerked in his seat, and for a moment, the normal colors and sounds of the classroom reasserted themselves around him—then the insidious voice was back at his ear.

 _"We've given you so many warnings… Maybe it's time for a little…_ retraining _? You apparently didn't learn last time."_

He swallowed, and the girl sitting across from him gave him a strange look.

_"Let's start with something basic, Rider."_

"Rider!"

He blinked. That was his teacher.

Said teacher was scowling down at him and he sunk further into his seat. "If you would _please_ get your head out of the clouds and join the rest of us mere mortals here in class." The entire class laughed at that, and Alex ducked his head, fighting down the dual sensations of embarrassment and terror. "Perhaps you'd like to give us your opinion on the readings from last night?"

He felt like he couldn't get any lower without physically sliding out of his seat, yet he _still_ felt like a target. "No, ma'am."

Her lips pressed into a thin line, before turning away. "See me after class Rider."

His palms sweated at that. No fast escape. He'd be trapped.

He gripped his hair, trying to stamp down on the rising panic.

He _knew_ it was ridiculous.

Chalk scratched across the board at the front of the room, drowning out the other sounds in his hearing. The haziness was reasserting itself around him, dulling the images of his fellow classmates. Turning their blurry images into threatening caricatures of children.

He swallowed.

_"So slow Rider."_

_"Don't want to have to start over, do we?"_

_"We can break you."_

_"We've done it before."_

_"Don't make us go looking for it ourselves. Then you'll_ never _know just how much we know."_

His breath was already coming in pants… the hazy blurriness of the room only adding to the suffocating feeling.

His head was pounding.

He had to get out.

_"We went easy last time. Next time'll be worse. You might as well give us the information now."_

There was no way he could last through this anymore.

_"Where are the files, hmm? You know."_

He hit his tipping point.

With nary a glance for his classmates or teacher, he all but ran out of the room. He didn't even turn back when he heard the teacher call after him. He just kept running—made all the more awkward by the presence of the cast and sling.

He burst out the doors of the school, gasping in the chilly air, trying to bring a little bit of sense back to his mind.

He _knew_.

Knew exactly what he needed to do. For one blissful moment, he clearly knew what _they_ wanted and how to keep them from getting it. He had to do _something_. What better way to make sure that they never got their hands on the information than to get rid of that information himself. They wouldn't have any other avenues to follow. It would be gone.

 _Gone_.

He dodged out of the parking lot, before pounding down the street in his off balanced run. He now knew exactly where he needed to go. He knew exactly how long it would take him to get there, how long it would be before anyone tried to catch up to him… How long before someone tried to stop him. He would just have to be faster.

He ducked onto a side street, hearing a car coming up behind him, but didn't bother to change his pace. _They_ would get him. _They_ would find the information. _No one_ could be trusted. After all, MI6 had always failed him before, and it seemed like they were doing it again now.

The haziness of his surroundings made it impossible to distinguish threat from ally, and he placed _everything_ into the threat category. Everything spun around him, twisting and turning on an axis that wasn't in alignment with the rest of the world. His running turned into more of a stumble as he tried to force his way through the daze that pressed in on him from all sides.

 _"Where are the_ Prism _files? Hmm? Where are_ Ian Rider's _files?"_

He had only one goal in his mind. Make it back to his house—to Ian's office.


	9. Hidden

He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the sheer normality to the neighborhood seemed out of place—especially to his panic filled brain. He hadn't been back in _months_ , yet even through the twisty haziness of his vision, he _knew_ that nothing had changed at the house.

The neighborhood was deserted—as was expected in the middle of the morning on a workday—and no one appeared as he stumbled up the sidewalks. He slid in through the side, hopping the fence and barely preventing himself from using his casted arm for balance. It was an unsteady landing, but he wavered his way across the lawn.

If he was lucky…

_Yes_.

There was a key hidden underneath a piece of false sod, left over from Ian's insistence that there be a way to get in at all times that wasn't immediately obvious to burglars. Of course, he might as well have been talking about terrorists for all it mattered… Whatever the case, the key was still there, and it was almost too easy to creep into the house. Alex was just _waiting_ for the surprise attack.

Now that he was here, his limbs took up a new sort of trembling, as exhaustion crept though his bones and tried to seep into the muscle, protesting the necessary movements. _Someone_ would be lying in wait. They wanted the information so badly—he doubted that they would just give up now. And they had known _so much_ already…

His plan hadn't stretched so far as to determine what he was going to do once he got to the house. Instead, he stared at the emptiness of the place. The furniture was still there, right where they had left it so many months ago, only now the pieces were covered with dust covers and a thick layer of dust. All the personal effects were gone. He could still _see_ the places where once familiar photos and keepsakes had been, even though he _knew_ they were no longer there.

He didn't know how long he stood there, back pressed up against the wall, tiredness and exhaustion pulling him down. The panic was still there, but muted. It was like he had entered an alternate reality.

Eventually, the familiar creaks of the house penetrated his mind and like a light turning on, he remembered why he had come.

_To destroy the information._

He entered the kitchen, immediately set upon by memories of normal living. Before everything had gotten crazy. It had only been _two years ago_. But now, everything was wrong. He couldn't function in normal society. He couldn't survive like this. Now, everyone was _dead_.

The surfaces blurred in and out of focus as he searched for the things he needed.

_"We know he left the information behind. What have you done with it?"_

Alex shook his head. Ian had been meticulous about his papers, meticulous enough that Alex _knew_ MI6 hadn't gotten them all. Something had to have been left behind, missed by MI6 when they cleared out Ian's home office the first time.

He had to do it. Had to get rid of them. For the good of everyone involved.

He finally found what he was looking for, though he hadn't known it until he saw it. Stuffed under the sink, in the furthest corner of the cupboard, there was a little lighter and a canister of lighter fluid. It would have to do. He grabbed a pan from underneath the sink as well, and upon finding that none of the inside faucets worked, he went outside and filled it up.

It wouldn't do any good to burn _everything_.

Then, he headed upstairs to Ian's office.

He had only been there a handful of times. Ian had almost never allowed him inside of it while he was alive, and it had been months before Alex had worked up the nerve to enter in. When he did, he hadn't found much of interest, expect for some old papers hidden between the bookcase and the wall. _Standard Ian operating procedure._ If it weren't for the questioning, he would have forgotten. He _had_ forgotten. Forgotten completely. That was impossible now.

The room was still as bare as ever, with the oak desk pressed up against the wall away from the window, the chair still toppled from where Alex had left it the last time he had been there— _months… how many months ago…_ He ignored it though, placing his tools down on the desk and began to hunt.

It was a task only impeded by the fact that his arm was still in a cast and the waves of dizziness that seemed to randomly appear and try to sap him of his strength. Not to mention the number of miles he had run, after no exercise for weeks. But he pressed on.

Papers in the false bottom of the desk.

Papers behind the mirror, tucked into the seams.

Papers slid into the baseboards under the window.

Papers that blended in with the tiny cracks of old wallpaper.

Papers.

Papers.

_Papers._

They were everywhere.

Before he knew it, he had a stack piled up on the desk. Papers full of his uncle's life work.

_Why are they so important?_ He didn't know. He skimmed through them—ignoring the part of his brain that was screaming at him to get moving—and recognized the code his uncle had taught him, years earlier. It had been on a seeming lark, when he was eight and they were traveling through Central America on their standard summer vacation trip. It was the simple process of replacing words here and there, with synonyms, antonyms, and homonyms. To the average reader, the paragraphs made sense, though disjointed slightly. To one that knew the code, it made even _more_ sense.

These seemingly harmless papers held the secrets of a dead man.

_Safe houses._

_Civilian contacts_

_Terrorist contacts._

_Agents. Pseudonyms._

_The location of MI6 and MI5's research and training centers._

_Passwords for self-destruct devices. Research._

Project Prism. Prism files. This was what they wanted. The key to _everything_. Blackmail for years of the secret projects of the British Government.

MI6 and MI5 couldn't overhaul their entire operation just because one man had died. Most of these, if not all of them, were still in full function. Still in use.

That information in the wrong hands would make it possible for someone to take down MI6 from the inside. Or to blackmail them into a corner.

_Why had Ian made it so_ easy _?_

Horror set in, as Alex realized what he had just done. He had given them exactly what they had wanted. All the information in one place. He _hadn't_ known it before. He didn't _want_ to know the information.

His hands started trembling even worse, as he gathered the papers, his brain bursting with all of the new information, with all of the new secrets. The pile was impressive, but he hardly noticed it as he poured the lighter fluid liberally over it all. The room was spinning again and he squeezed his eyes shut as the flames burst to life in front of him.

He wanted to scream.

He had followed their wishes.

The room continued to swim in front of his eyes, as the flames danced. The papers were curling up, turning a black color as the information was leeched out of it. Gone forever.

Except he now had it all in his _head_.

He didn't _want_ it.

His hand gripped his hair, trying to calm the mental panic. It wasn't working. He backed up until he was pressed up against the wall, as far away from the incriminating evidence as possible.

_Forget._

_Forget._

_Forget._

_"Just tell me, Rider. Tell me one little thing…"_

The room continued to swim in its haziness, the flames continued to dance, and all Alex wanted was to forget.

_"Hmm… pity."_

* * *

The room was choking him.

He couldn't breathe, but it was different from the drowning sensation.

_Hah. You can tell the difference…?_

There was a rough burning at his throat, clawing its way down with every breath. Each breath became a wheeze, which rapidly turned into a cough. That only succeeded in making him suck down even more of the putrid air, creating a self-punishing cycle.

_Breathe._

_Cough._

_Gasp._

_Cough._

_Breathe._

_Repeat._

His eyes watered, as he tried to find air without the fumes, but it didn't exist.

He didn't know where he was…

Something rough pressed up against his face, while the other side felt like he had stayed out in the sun for too long.

_Was he lying down…? Was that a floor beneath his cheek?_

He coughed again, but the struggles were becoming less and less effective.

He forced his eyes open and finally identified what was clogging his lungs, eyes, and nose.

_Smoke_.

Thick, black smoke that seemed to cover the entire room in a choking layer. Even at the floor level, where he was lying, the smoke was thick, hot, and clogging. There _was_ no clear air. And even if he had felt that he had the strength to get up, there was no escape.

Flames leapt up around every corner of the room, some creeping ominously closer with every passing moment. He was sprawled in the middle of the room— _why? How did he get here…?_ The smoke and flames distorted the normal images making it impossible to discern his location. Or even _see_ if there were exits from the room. All he could see was fire.

_"Don't want you to outlive your usefulness."_

He gasped for air, trying to use the corner of his shirt as a shield between himself and the smoke, but one arm felt unnaturally heavy and the other's coordination was almost shot. It only somewhat helped. The fabric was oddly damp— _why was he wet in the middle of a fire?_ —though it was quickly drying out. That little bit gave him some relief though.

He still coughed, trying to find air that wasn't tainted. He wished the pounding in his head would stop. That the room would stop spinning so wildly. That he could just _breathe_ again.

He didn't have the energy to get up.

His body trembled, whether or not he was trying to get up, shaking and spasming despite any attempts to conserve energy. Besides, it was marginally cooler on the floor, away from the worst of the flames and hot smoke scorching his airway.

He was going to die here.

Die in the midst of a fire.

_"Keep this up, Rider, and we might just have to make drastic decisions."_

He didn't even know where _here_ was.

The flames crept closer—he could feel the heat slowly intensifying—as they consumed more and more of the available space. He knew they would come for him next.

Promising him a slow death.

Promising him a painful death.

He tried to curl into a small ball, a smaller target, but every movement sent the world around him off course. The sensation in his head pounding in tune to the steady staccato of his rapid heartbeat. His coughing picked up, filling his lungs with the hot, thick air.

The flames wouldn't be the one to kill him. It would be the smoke.

_Someone_ was killing him.

_Someone_ was going to succeed.

Then, a wall— _or was it a door?_ —burst in, sending crumbling fragments scattering across the room, all somehow missing him. That didn't stop him from screaming as he saw his own fiery and painful death flashing before him.

_Crushed under a flaming wall._

He was gasping for air, choking on every lungful, because the scream had taken away his small reserve of air. Had taken away the little bit that kept him from inhaling too deeply. Now, he couldn't breathe.

Hands came from nowhere and grabbed him under the knees and shoulders. All he could see were the flames. Flames that were preventing him from living. They pulled him up into the smoke, choking off further attempts at breathing, and he tried to struggle. _He tried_. But his efforts were too weak. His energy was gone, drained away, the small reserve working tirelessly to keep him breathing. Choking. Coughing. Gasping.

Strange beings had him now, beings covered in rough material, bulky and intimidating.

He hardly noticed them.

The flames flashed by his face and he closed his eyes against the rushing sensation. The smoke curled around him, working its way into his lungs even though he was doing more coughing than breathing.

_Maybe they'd put him out of his misery…_

_"Are you going to cooperate now, hmm?"_

Then, sudden air. _Sharp. Fresh._ Still tainted by the smoke, but _different_. His trembling and spasms had picked up a different tempo, accentuated by the coughing. But the air was different. Cleaner—though still with the cloying taste of smoke. He gasped for it, trying to bring in as much as he could, yet finding that it was nearly impossible to keep any _in_ , as he was coughing so hard and so frequently. But it was _air_.

_"I want you to think very carefully, Rider."_

_His dying breaths._

Other voices entered the mix. Different voices all around him— _where did they come from?_ —all rose and fell, only occasionally breaking through into the realm of comprehension. The realm outside of his focused coughing and gasping. That was all he could focus on.

Then he was arching away from some surface as they placed him down on it. Tried to pull away as something interrupted the _clean_ air he was getting and replaced it with something that felt wrong. It felt _strange_ as it passed over his mouth and nose, pressing into his lungs, enforcing the coughing even more.

"—reason to believe he had returned—"

He tried to pull away from the hands that had him now.

His face hurt.

His body hurt.

His arm felt like a lead weight.

Whatever was touching him _hurt_ him.

Getting away was the only option.

"—very lucky—"

He squirmed, trying to get away from the hands, not once opening his eyes.

He had to _get away_.

It wasn't safe.

"—significant smoke inhalation—"

He kept coughing.

Then, something pried at his eyelids and a blinding light shone in. He tried to pull away.

_Only chance._

"—pupils are blown—"

He kept struggling, not liking the light.

_Have to do it._

_Have to get away._

_Never be safe._

He rolled off whatever surface they had placed him on, gasping and wheezing. Pain traveled up his left arm, sharp and distracting— _what had happened?_ —and then someone grabbed him before he could move further. He struggled again, throwing all of his energy into the fight.

Air didn't matter.

_They can't have me!_

They would take him now.

They hadn't managed to kill him.

So, they would do _worse_.

He wanted to scream, but the coughing prevented that. Just like it prevented him fighting back. The energy and lack of oxygen slowly sapped the strength from his bones. He found himself gasping for breath and _they_ took advantage of his weakness, getting him back onto the strange surface. Replacing the mask.

"—shock. Getting violent—"

This time they didn't take any chances.

He twisted against their grip, sacrificed the last of his energy in a last ditch effort to get away—but they had used straps this time. Straps that restricted his movement. Made it impossible to get away. The shaking that he had forgotten about during the fight, picked up again, combining itself with his coughing, draining him of every ounce of energy he had, until he was empty. Finished.

"—get him sedate—"

He gasped for air, shaking against the grip of the restraints. Feeling like his heart was trying to claw its way out of his chest.

He knew those words.

He waited.

An unprecedented calmness washed through him, making his limbs feel even heavier. It was a calmness he didn't want.

It didn't help anything. It didn't stop anything.

Didn't change a single thing.

_They_ had him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, a little psychotic and perhaps a tad bit hard to read at parts, but things are changing dramatically. And we'll get the answers to quite a few questions in the next chapter, promise.


	10. Beyond

He felt like he was swimming through muck. His thoughts were thick and didn't seem to move properly, and instead, he followed each and every pull right back into the dark spaces of his mind. He was only somewhat aware of the outside world, finding the calming gray areas a pleasant place to float, and never tried to go any further. Here, his mind was, for once, quiet.

Besides, it was only a matter of time before the darkness pulled him back under again.

The outside world didn't matter. He would rather forget it.

Forget the world of pain that was waiting for him.

Every time he had almost surfaced—far enough to know there was a surface, but not quite there—the overwhelming sensation of pain had shocked him. Shocked by the sheer madness and chaos that had encompassed his thoughts. Even then, it wasn't necessarily physical pain, but mental pain.

He didn't want that.

He preferred the safety of his gray space. The real world—because although this was cozy, he knew it wasn't actually real—seemed to be far, far away. However, the darker edges of darkness were staying away, and he was left to just drift. At peace with all.

"You've been at this for a while now, Alex."

He blinked. Or would have, had his eyes been open. He didn't need his eyes open to visualize the person who was speaking to him though. He knew the voices were figments of his imagination—and it almost hurt to think that—but they were their own form of comforting.

"They're going to get worried soon, you realize."

Oh, he had guessed as much—and since this was clearly a figment of his imagination, of course he knew that.

That didn't change the fact that he didn't want to risk the move. The few times he had risen through the gray had involved unimaginable pain, yelling, and the sensation of being completely trapped. He had only managed it twice, before retreating to save himself. There was now a numbed disconnect, as he drifted in the gray—neither sleeping nor in reality.

He couldn't risk it.

He would crumble at the wrong push.

"It should be better now. Not much is going on out there."

The thought of going and facing the pain terrified him. Perhaps that should have been his signal that his freedom was ending. The fear centers were coming back online, getting ready to push him out no matter what he did. What would happen if he were wrong? That the pain really was still there, just waiting for him to come back. The thought of fighting through it again was enough to make him want to pull away—but all those thoughts seemed to do was push him closer and closer.

He didn't want to deal with it.

Why couldn't everything just become magically better?

"—give him some time. The worst is over now."

Alex started—the foreign words and voice settling into his mind. They were not welcome words—though he had no idea the meaning, he knew what hearing those real voices meant. Voices meant that the gray was getting thin. Too thin.

Soon, he would no longer be safe within his own mind. He wouldn't be able to hide out much longer. He would be forced to face them.

As if following his train of thought, he felt himself inexplicably pulled into a memory. Ian was there—because of course, if Ian were there, that meant that nothing could go wrong.

"It's not fair." Alex pouted from his seat on the couch—his temporary living space. "I should be the one out there playing tonight. I was supposed to be the starter."

Ian stared down at his nephew, plaster on the boy's casted ankle still in the process of drying, and the petulant expression on his face. If the eight-year-old hadn't looked so serious, despite it all, it would have been amusing. "Well… I suppose you should have thought of that before you and Tom decided to test out your flying inventions."

Alex's brows furrowed, before settling into another pouty expression. "But still…"

Ian shook his head, smiling slightly. "Don't worry kiddo. There'll be other opportunities." He leaned over and ruffled a hand through his hair. It felt strangely real… "Just keep your head up and watch out for yourself. And don't do any more stupid things."

And then it was gone. Like a flash, the memory disappeared and Alex found himself being shoved toward the surface. He wasn't sure how long it took; the gray seemed to be both everlasting and brief. Then, he finally broke through the surface, clawing his way to life, drawing in lungfuls of fresh air, and gasping into the bright light.

He felt perfectly fine for one glorious moment, with no fears or thoughts pressing down on him. Then, he noticed the cloth half obscuring his vision. The firm mask covering his mouth and nose, pressing air toward his lungs.

The straps holding him down…

Memories, sensations, and fear flooded his system.

He hadn't come this far, only to be taken again.

He couldn't hold up again.

He wouldn't let them win.

He wasn't safe here…

"Alex!" Hands grasped his shoulders, and he tried to buck away, but couldn't, because he was still held in place. "Calm down. It's okay."

Alex gasped wildly, before the words sunk in. That wasn't the voice of a captor.

Had they gotten him too…?

"That's it. Calm down. It's okay. No one's going to hurt you." A hand ran down his arm, before griping his right hand lightly. "They just wanted to keep you from hurting yourself earlier. I'm sure as soon as they know you're awake, they'll let you free."

Alex let his body fall limp, just before a wave of coughing overtook him. Eventually, it stopped, and he looked over at his visitor, trying to make out the features. Ben Daniels. A face he hadn't seen in almost a year, smiled back at him, though cautiously.

His mind spun in a million directions, picking out the clues from his surroundings. A hospital. Hospital bed. Machinery. Not captive?

"Wha… wha's goin on?" The mask muffled his words—he doubted they would remove it if he asked—and his own exhaustion slurred the words.

"You're in St. Dominic's again. Mrs. Jones thought you might like to see a familiar, friendly face when you woke up."

Alex raised an eyebrow at that, hardly thinking that Mrs. Jones was looking out for what he would like. Case and point, something had gone wrong. He knew that much. But he wanted to know what. Talking felt like such a chore though…

Thankfully, Ben seemed to catch on. "From what I gather, after your abrupt departure from school—" He had what? Left school? "—you went back to your old house. I'm not exactly clear on the details, but somehow, you were trapped in the midst of the house burning down, several hours later. Since then, you've been here at St. Dominic's, going through withdrawals and suffering from a concussion."

Alex blinked, catching onto only one word. Withdrawals. But to what? How? "Wit…drawals?" The word seemed almost unintelligible to Alex, but Ben apparently knew exactly what he meant.

"I don't know much, they'll probably tell you the full story later. What I do know is that someone tampered with your painkillers." He sent a significant glance at Alex's arm. "They added a highly addictive psychotic into it that apparently messed with rational behavior and other such stuff." He waved his hand vaguely. "Mrs. Jones and your doctor know more about that than I do."

Alex reran the information through his head, matching it with what he knew had happened. Which, scarily, wasn't very much. The thought that someone had tampered with his medications was not a comforting one, yet it gave a potential reason for the overwhelming panic and paranoia both at school and with his guardians. And the sheer other-worldly-ness that had encompassed his thoughts. With the things that he did remember, he wasn't sure why it had seemed so terrifying before.

"You've been pretty sick for the past week—since the fire."

Alex blinked again. A week. It had been a week since coming back. Yet more hours that he wouldn't ever remember, wouldn't ever get back. He sighed, trying to find a more comfortable position, and only serving to remind himself of the restraints. "Why… held… stuck…" He couldn't quite find the words and the process of speaking was exhausting and hurt his throat.

"They had to restrain you when you started becoming self-destructive—part of the withdrawal process. That was also when Mrs. Jones called me in. They needed someone to stay with you, but you were too high a security risk to allow a non-agent unlimited, unsupervised access."

He listened between the lines, picking out the key information. Jones still thought him to be in danger then… and didn't want someone to take advantage of his altered state of mind. That was… almost comforting.

The corners of Ben's mouth perked up into a smile. "You have some minor burns on your face and arm. All the hairs on your arm were singed off—but don't worry, you still have your eyebrows."

Alex almost smiled in return, but he was getting tired again. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be able to stay awake. Though he wanted the restraints off…

Ben seemed comfortable next to him though.

Alex had a sudden horrifying realization and fumbled for the words. "Next… guardian… you?"

He liked Ben.

That was what worried him. So far, every agent that had taken him on absolutely hated him by the end of it. He had heard their words—demon, terror, violent—and he didn't want to lose the small shred of friendship he still had—not that he had seen Ben in months… Of course, his ex-guardians' perceptions might have been slightly tainted by the fact that he had physically harmed or threatened each of them—except for the latest.

"Who? Me?" Ben shook his head, though looked slightly wistful. "No. Mrs. Jones had a plan in place already. I would though, if I didn't have an assigned partner already."

It was a little comforting to know that someone had wanted him. Even if he were glad that it hadn't worked out… "Where… partner now?" He felt proud that he had finally strung two words together, without having to take a breath in between.

A full out grin spread across Ben's face. "Some Caribbean island. It's his honeymoon, so I've been sequestered doing paperwork for the past week."

Alex nodded. Made sense… He licked his lips, not liking the taste of the sterile air coming in the mask. He doubted they would take it away soon… "Water?"

"Sorry, no water until a nurse clears you. One should be coming soon—I let them know you were waking up."

Alex let out a heavy sigh. Apparently it was too heavy though, as it quickly turned into a coughing fit. Harsh. Raspy. It was different from pneumonia, because not only did the cough make his lungs hurt, but the burning feeling spread to his throat, nose, and mouth. He couldn't even cough properly, lying down as he was, so it took a while for it to die down to mere panting. Trying not to breathe in too deep and trigger another cough.

The nurse—as well as a doctor—walked in on his carefully controlled breathing, only pausing briefly to ask Ben how long he had been awake. Then, a bright light shone into his eyes, and Alex couldn't stop his automatic response to turn away.

The doctor merely chuckled. "You're definitely looking better today." The light returned—this seemed so familiar…—but this time, he couldn't avoid it. "Normal pupil response. That's the best we've seen so far. Tell me, young man, what's your name?"

Alex blinked. "Alex… Rider." He hoped they didn't discount him because he was having trouble stringing words together. He knew who he was.

The man merely hmmed, before pealing back the gauze on Alex's face. The sensation was tingly, but not overly painful, and Alex was reminded of Ben's statement. Burns. "Looking good there," the doctor said. "Do you remember what month it is?"

Alex thought for a moment. Really, the last couple of days had become quite the blur—over a week now, he supposed—and he wasn't sure how many of those he actually remembered… "April?"

"Right you are." There was some careful prodding of the skin around his brow and forehead, but the initial pain had died down. "Do you know the name of your friend here? I was told you may or may not."

Alex started to nod, but he aborted the gesture the moment he realized that a steady pounding had taken up residence in his head. "Ben… Daniels."

The doctor merely nodded, continuing with his examination. "We'll wait a couple more hours before adding more ointment, I think. How are you feeling right now?"

"Fine." It was an automatic response and one that earned him a patronizing looking from both the doctor and Ben. He rephrased himself. "Little dizzy… head… hurts… confused…" He tried to narrow down the incoming information, but it didn't work very well.

The doctor nodded. "To be expected. You had quite the knock to your head. Dizziness and some tenderness are perfectly normal responses. How about your breathing? You were coughing earlier…"

"Coughing hurts. Breathing… okay. Talking…" He shrugged, trying to put what he wanted to say into his gesture. They seemed to get it.

The man patted his shoulder. "You're doing great Alex."

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't quite see what he was doing that was such a feat…

"Let's get you sitting up. We shouldn't have to worry about any relapses in the near future, but remember our previous agreement. No wandering."

Alex smiled slightly, before letting his eyes slide shut. Staying awake was exhausting and he had only been at it for a handful of minutes.

Hands undid the straps holding him down to the bed and a part of Alex's brain finally relaxed at the freedom. Between the doctor and nurse, it only took a few moments before he was comfortably sitting in a reclined position. His head felt too heavy to support at the moment, so they had foregone full sitting. As it was, the room was still spinning minutes later, and Alex hated to think of what it would be like if he had been trying to standup. For now, at least, they wouldn't have any problem with the no wandering rule.

A hand touched his arm and Alex realized that his eyes had slid shut again. He was exhausted.

"I know you don't like the masks, but you need to keep it on." The doctor gave him a stern gaze, as if trying to impart the essentiality of the equipment. "We'll reassess tomorrow, but for now, it's keeping your oxygen levels within the normal range. So unless you like the idea of being short on air, I recommend you keep it on."

Alex frowned, but didn't say anything. He would cooperate, for now at least.

The doctor finished examining the slight burns on his non-casted arm, before assuring him that exhaustion was quite normal and that the best cure was more sleep. He was given a stern order to spend the next couple of hours sleeping, and told that water, and perhaps food, would be brought after that time.

He didn't even wait for the doctor to finish up and take his leave, or ask for the bed to be let down again. He just drew the familiar heavy weight of his cast across his chest and let his eyes slide shut. Finally. He hardly noticed as someone pulled the sheets up around his shoulders before he was sinking back in the darkness.

* * *

His contact with Jones had been fleeting over the past several days and he wasn't exactly thrilled that his first stop after they finally released him from the hospital was to go directly to her office at the Royal & General.

They had kept him at the hospital for almost the entire week—between his continued recovery and the next step in rehabilitation for his hand it was almost understandable. As it was, they had removed some of the pins and replaced the cast with a removable splint. He had gone through several days of intensive physical therapy, trying to regain his range of motion, but so far, there had been little success. They told him it would only be a matter of time, but he knew better than to hope for perfection.

He was off the strong painkillers and antibiotics, and even the burns had more or less faded away, now only slightly pinker patches of skin that itched if they were irritated. All in all, he was doing remarkably well when compared with only a week earlier.

Ben escorted him up to the office, before waving a somewhat cheerful goodbye, leaving little doubt that it would be the last time Alex saw him for quite some time. It made him wonder, and somewhat fearful of, just who would be the next guardian. He doubted that Jones would finally get a clue and figure out that he really was much safer on his own—he wouldn't poison himself, for one.

He sighed, before knocking on the door and not even waiting for the call for entrance. He flopped down into the waiting chair—now that he was out of the sling, simple movements were much easier—and gave Jones the most petulant teenage glare he could muster up. It was old hat to the both of them, having been through far too many conferences like this over the past several months.

She stared at him over the desk, unblinkingly, taking in his still pale and ruffled appearance with a critical gaze. "That was quite a stunt you pulled, Alex."

He blinked at her. "What?" He should have known that her seeming denial that anything had occurred only meant that discussions were put off until they had less of an audience.

"You managed to get away from school, break into your old house—before we had figured out where you had run to—and survive it burning down around you. All while you were under the influence of quite the concoction of drugs."

He frowned. "You say that like it's my fault."

She shook her head. "No… your thinking showed patterns of high irrationality. You did none of that with conscious choice, yet you still did." Her lips thinned into a straight line. "Ms. Harcourt was astonishingly unhelpful, but thankfully she was still within the building when it became clear that your medications had been tampered with." A fierce and oddly protective scowl came across her face. "She is now where she rightfully belongs, being interrogated by MI5 for treason and collusion against the country."

Alex blinked, and then nodded. His guardian, it seemed, had been in on it. Not surprising, since it had been her insistence—and force—that had caused him to take even higher dosages of the medications. And Jones still thought they were capable of protecting him…? They couldn't protect him from one of their own.

"That being said, I must ask. Why were you back at your old house? From what we've been able to gather, you went under your own power. But you knew we had cleared it out months ago. There was nothing left."

He opened his mouth to reply, but promptly closed it. His brows furrowed as he thought back through the hazy memories. He had known that he was missing memories, expected it even. But he was so sure he knew why he had gone back there. "I… I don't remember…" And he didn't. There was a sense of urgency, of having to do something, but it was completely indistinct.

Aside from the distinct terror that he had felt in the midst of his class—that had spurred him to run out of the building—he could remember very little from that day. Even the terror and confusion of waking up in the room with flames was little more than feelings. No thoughts. Few images. They even told him he had been conscious then, fighting against the rescuers.

But he remembered nothing. He clenched his jaw, thinking furiously and coming up with the same answer. Thoughts full of blankness.

Mrs. Jones let out a long sigh. "Nothing at all?"

"No, really. I… I don't." His hand reached up and gripped his hair, as if it would forcefully bring the memories back. "I mean… I went… I went for… some reason. It was important. And I… and I did something." He knew that. He had done something. But what was that something. What had he done that he thought so important, so vital? "Something important. I had to do it, because… because… and then I didn't… I didn't… I don't… Argh!" He tugged harder on his hair, trying desperately to focus his thoughts. "Why don't I remember?"

"Alex…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling on his hair, searching for the memories. He knew they were there. Somewhere. Just waiting. "If it was so important then, why don't I remember now? Why?"

Then, hands were pulling his away from his hair, and he realized that Jones was in front of him, rather than behind her desk. "Alex, it's okay." Mrs. Jones being comforting…? _Welcome to the Twilight Zone…_ "We believe that you were drugged with those intentions in mind. It was a powerful psychogenic that specifically targets memory formation and rational thinking. Not to mention, somewhere in there, you received quite a powerful blow to the head." The moment was over almost as soon as it had started, and she stepped away, surveying him with a cautious gaze. "Of course, that means we have to take this as a serious attempt on your life."

That had Alex snapping back to reality. "No." Jones was going to want to take over again.

She frowned at him. "Does the fact that your house was burned down while you were still inside it, not matter to you? Or the fact that someone has been drugging you for well over a month?"

"Does the fact that it was one of your agents doing the drugging not matter to you?"

She waved it away. "The fire was started with the sole purpose of killing you in the most drawn out way possible, after leaving you unconscious in one of the rooms. It wasn't an accident." The frown she gave him pinched her entire face. "You're not safe here anymore."

Alex swallowed. He had the sinking suspicion that he wasn't going to like the sound of her newest plan—and that it didn't involve him going off on his own. Ben had only vaguely hinted at knowing anything about it, only saying that he thought the situation would be better than previous ones.

Not that much improvement had to be made to accomplish that.

"You will not be returning to your school. We will make alternative arrangements so that you can continue your studies—and that includes making up the coursework from the past several weeks." Translate as coursework from the entire year… "Extenuating circumstances have made it obvious that you need more time to complete the work—you'll be working with a correspondence course. We will arrange that at your next residence."

He was almost afraid to ask. "My next residence?" Jones was making it clear. They were isolating him. He would have no contact with the outside world. This was just the first step—

"Your things are already packed. Your flight leaves this afternoon."

Alex's brain halted, mid thought. "Flight?" Where could they send him that would necessitate a flight? Was this like old times again…?

"Yes. An agent will escort you on your flight and your new guardian will meet you in the airport."

Alex scowled. "What, don't trust me to fly by myself?" Where were they sending him?

Mrs. Jones gave him an exasperated look. "Does the fact that you've been nearly killed in the last week not mean anything at all?"

He shrugged his shoulders, but silently admitted that it did. It disturbed him more than just a little that it had been so laughably easy for them to get to him. He didn't trust MI6 or their agents anymore though.

She looked at him long and hard for a moment, before frowning. "As I said, your guardian will meet you at the airport. They will work out the finer details of your schooling arrangements once you're on site."

Alex swallowed. He was almost afraid to ask now… but she had clearly been avoiding it. And since she was putting him on a flight… it meant that it was a decent distance away. Or just somewhere where it would be easier to fly to. "Just… where are you sending me?"

She gave him a smile that to anyone else would have looked inviting. Instead, it just looked foreboding. "It's oddly fitting, as it appears to be the only subject you're currently passing." She reached over her desk, carelessly picking up one of the ever present peppermints and popping it in her mouth. "You're going to Spain."


	11. Assignment

It would likely shape up to be one of the strangest assignments that they had ever been given. He just had a gut feeling about it. There was something _off_ about it.

It had been nearly a month since he had rejoined his unit and he couldn't have been happier to be back on base. They had been thrilled to have him back, in one piece, no less. Though there was still the fact that he had his moments of melancholy and mind-numbing panic when he woke up in a seemingly unfamiliar place, the therapist had cleared him for active duty. They claimed that the last of the healing would be best with his unit, getting back into the rhythm of things. It had. The consistency and familiarity of life on the base had brought things back into focus, back into reality.

Not that he had left base unaccompanied since. Whether that was by his own doing, or his unit watching his back, he wasn't sure. Some higher up had even gone so far as to ensure that on arrival back there had been someone waiting specifically for him. No one could say that the SAS didn't look out for their own.

The therapist had suggested taking it slowly the first several weeks back, but he was military. _SAS_. There wasn't time to take it slow. Not that there were very many exciting things to do on base aside from the usual parades and grunt work…

The superiors had thrown them into an intense retraining regimen, getting the unit back up to par. Or perhaps, they had known or suspected what was coming next. Not more than a week after finishing their refresher course, the captain of his unit came back with orders for a potentially long-term assignment—in which _he_ had been mentioned specifically.

Usually, such recognition was a red flag, when military intelligence starting taking note of specific SAS soldiers. More often than not, it meant eventual secondment—which this assignment technically was—and almost guaranteed that their SAS career wouldn't last much longer. Either they were killed in action during secondment or they switched permanently to MI5 or MI6—neither of which he viewed as desirable outcomes, for him or any of his unit. It was a pattern many of the seasoned veterans saw and recognized—and he himself had seen it several times.

Aside from those initial red flags though, this assignment had seemed different. The details and briefing had been caught up in so many seemingly complex explanations, none of which seemed to actually explain _anything_. All they knew for sure going into it was that they were operating out of sight from the Spanish government on Spanish soil—away from the familiarity and safety of their base and commanding officers—under some guise of witness protection.

Their assignment—because he didn't like to think in terms of _target_ —was arriving on the evening flight from London, in Madrid, and then taking another flight into one of the municipal airports, closer to where their safe house would be. There had been questions as to why the assignment wasn't being brought into the base proper, but their superiors had waved it off with explanations such as the base not being secure.

How they expected anywhere _not_ on the base to be more secure, he wasn't sure. In his opinion, being protected by a full-time guard and state of the art technology… _that_ was true protection. Not some middle of nowhere small town airport—where any stranger arriving would likely be cause for interest.

All those little hints and suspicions had paled in comparison to the final piece of news they were given. _He_ , Zebra or Nico, would recognize the assignment upon sighting. They assured him. And had promptly refused to give any more details or identifying characteristics. It was a complex protection detail, but they were starting off the first couple of days with very little information. Supposedly, more information would come during the drop off.

They had already been forced into signing a new and revised version of the OSA—Official Secrets Act—one that was more general and broader than what they had signed upon joining with the SAS. It seemed to cover all the bases—and it indicated that whoever the person they were protecting was, had some hefty secrets or knowledge.

Though why they needed an entire unit for one person…

"Zebra, we're moving out."

He nodded his acknowledgement, threw the last of his personal belongings into his duffel, and joined the rest of his unit in packing the assigned car. It wasn't military issue—they couldn't be _that_ obvious about it—but it was more heavy duty than any civilian vehicle. He suspected that it probably even had bullet proofing…

They had already checked out the range of weapons they were allowed to carry off base—a slightly longer list, since it was sponsored by MI—along with a slew of listening devices, pressure triggers, and other gadgets that would make securing the safe house possible. Along with that, they had special stow areas in the car that would prevent their equipment from being flagged during the border crossing.

After giving the General a parting salute, they piled into the car and started their journey away from the base. It would take them at least three hours to get off the island and reach their safe house in Spain, and then an hour beyond that to reach the airport. Two would stay at the safe house and secure it, while Zebra and Cougar—the captain of the unit—went to pick up their assignment.

Nico wasn't sure what to expect, but he had a feeling that it wasn't going to be a run of the mill assignment. He could just feel the twists and turns that were waiting for them—their lack of knowledge and preparation being one of the biggest factors.

There wasn't anything he could do though…

* * *

It was a moderately warm day, for it being mid-April. The people of the medium sized city didn't even give them a second glance as they wove their way through the busy, but not quite crowded, airport. There were several other flights coming in around the same time—the only true busy time at the airport—and they were dressed as inconspicuously as possible. As far as anyone was concerned, they were two natives wandering through.

A specific portion of their mission briefing had included the need for _camouflage_. Not a single person in the unit had any of the regulation uniform pieces with them, nor were they to go about using their code names. They were to blend in as completely as possible—both while in public and in private.

This was definitely an assignment that had come from Military Intelligence—MI—and not _their_ superiors.

Thankfully, after having been involved in each other's lives for several years, both on and off base, they were all comfortable referring to and using their true identities. It would be strange to continue doing so, now that they were all in the mission mindset, but at the same time, it was for an undetermined amount of time. For all they knew, this assignment could last for weeks.

"You're sure you have no idea about this?" Bradley Cameron, the captain of the unit, asked for the umpteenth time. Even though they were in the midst of such a crowded area, they were still careful with their conversation.

Nico shook his head. "Not a clue," he muttered back. He had been turning it over in his head ever since they had gotten the assignment. The mission briefing had hinted at someone he knew… but he couldn't figure out who MI could have possibly connected with him. "Even for MI, it seems rather… _covert_."

Cameron frowned, gaze jumping around the crowd of people, searching. "And how are _they_ supposed to know that we are who we are?"

He shrugged. "More information?" _Information_. That was the true difference between MI and the SAS. The SAS were clear about what they expected, no surprises, if they could help it. MI, on the other hand, liked to play their cards close to their chest, giving out as little information as possible and sill expecting near miracles from their agents. He suspected that whoever was on the other side of the situation probably had about as much information as they did. It just seemed to be MI's _style_.

Cameron grunted, thoughts likely taking the same path, and continued his scanning. They had joined the mob around the receiving platform, filtering through the familiar shouts of greeting in Spanish, looking for one out of place word or gesture that might alert them to their assignment.

Nico hadn't noticed much out of the ordinary in the airport. As far as he could tell, it was a normal one for a medium sized city. There was the standard hustle and bustle of people—mainly young families and retired couples, as school was still in session—as they greeted their loved ones, found their rides, and struggled with their luggage. His eyes tracked one family as they met up with what seemed to be grandparents and other relatives, pushing the grandmother in a wheelchair. It was all perfectly normal.

He felt, rather than saw Cameron stiffen, before being nudged in the side. "Think we're looking for a suit?"

Nico redirected his gaze in the direction Cameron was looking, scanning the people coming through the doors. It didn't take long to pick out the suit. He stood out from the rest, but only if one knew what they were looking for. He could have easily passed as a businessman—but MI agents of a certain job description just had a _look_. That wasn't what made Nico stop in his tracks though. Rather, it was the person standing right next to him. _"Mierda!"_

_No._

_No. No._

_No. No. No. No._

They couldn't possibly think that this was a good idea.

What was _he_ doing here?

Why now?

Cameron had stopped, hearing Nico's exclamation—that only caught a couple of disapproving glares—and glanced back at him with a suspicious gaze.

Nico didn't even notice him though. Instead, he was staring at the apparition that he had assumed he would never see again in his life. In fact, they _both_ probably would have been happy to never see each other again. So… he didn't understand just what part of MI thought that it was a _good idea_. He himself was hardly a month out of therapy for goodness sake! There was no way… no way that…

The suit had noticed them, homing in on them with a professional determination—but his companion had not. He blindly followed the man, not bothering to look up from his intense study of the floor, only taking the time to step around groups of families that were in his path. Perhaps not as unaware as he appeared…

Nico was sure that the blood had drained out of his face and Cameron was looking between the suit and Nico with confusion and a great deal of suspicion—but he hadn't recognized the tag-along to the suit. Hadn't yet picked him out from the crowd. Nico knew he shouldn't be reacting this way—he should have expected something wild and outrageous. Now the covert wording all made sense, the reassurance that _he_ would recognize the target. The assignment. This _boy_.

A not so gentle shove in his back brought him back to the present, reminded him that he was in the middle of a public airport. He pulled on the soldier mask that he hadn't had to use in _months_. But he couldn't afford to break apart just because he saw someone that brought up a whole slew of memories he would rather forget.

They were past that, after all.

_He_ still hadn't looked up.

"Bradley Cameron and Nicolas Kendrick?" The suit had a distinctly flat accent and the English seemed out of place in the Spanish atmosphere. It was clear that this was merely an assignment for him, nothing more.

"Yes." Cameron's eyes flicked over to the boy that was just outside of reaching distance from the suit. He still hadn't caught on. "You have more information for us?" He pitched his voice low, trying to blend in with the hum of the crowd. It was impossible to know who spoke English or understood at the least.

The suit pulled out a manila envelope that seemed to be nearly bursting at the seams. "This should explain a few things. We'll be in contact with more information. There are a couple of papers that need to be signed and returned this evening—Kendrick those are specifically for you."

Nico blinked. "Of course…" _What could those be?_ Just like he couldn't fathom why they had chosen his unit, he couldn't fathom why they were choosing _him_ specifically. Especially as he _was not_ the leader of the unit.

"This is Alex Rider." The suit nodded toward the teen and any hope that Nico had of the _boy_ being someone else was thrown out the window. He was the same. "He will be your charge until either the situation changes or your services are required elsewhere. We expect weekly updates—the protocols are included in the packet."

_Services are required elsewhere…_ That seemed like an ominously long time. Undetermined. Indefinite. The mission briefing had been vague enough—but this seemed like it could go on for an eternity. Where was the boy's family in the midst of all this? It seemed strange that they would just _move_ him, with no promise of return. What had he _seen_? And perhaps most importantly, why now, so many weeks after the initial incident…?

"Good luck with Rider." The surname seemed rather callous considering the age and Nico almost flinched back from the memories of how that same name had been used as an insult. Derogatory. The boy hardly reacted to it though. A hand on his shoulder almost had the kid flinching away—Nico knew well enough to see the tensing of muscles and then the almost immediate suppression of the reflex—as the suit entered the space that Alex clearly didn't want anyone entering. "Behave, Rider. Jones doesn't want to clean up _another_ mess."

_That_ got a reaction. Alex's head snapped up, with a vicious scowl on his face for the suit. The flare of temper, the flash of personality, all reminiscent of the behaviors Nico had witnessed before. It disappeared almost as soon as he registered the other two, as soon as he saw Nico. _Panic. Fear_. And then all trace of emotion disappeared completely, like wiping off a board, as he appeared to shut down. It was a transformation Nico had seen only a few times before, but he had never come across a mere _child_ who could pull it off so easily. The boy just seemed to withdraw into himself.

"Hmm… We will see." The suit nodded at them, before turning and seeming to melt into the crowd. He left them with nothing more than an envelope and a moody teenager.

Nico was at a complete loss.

Cameron seemed to be doing at least a _little_ better at pretending, though he seemed confused at the reaction toward Nico. Nico wasn't about to deal with that at the moment though. There were certainly a lot of things that he would have to explain—but in the midst of the airport wasn't the place for that.

"Do you need to get your things?" Cameron asked Alex, as if this were a completely normal exchange. Damage control, for anyone that was in the vicinity.

Alex shook his head, before pulling the backpack slung over his shoulder up a little. His other arm was hidden in the folds of his sweatshirt. Nico remembered the damage that _they_ had done to it, seemingly permanent and irreversible. Was it any better? It had been just over two months since… their rescue. Damage like that didn't heal quickly though. And the red tightness to the one side of his face surely hadn't been there before…

Cameron cleared his throat, clearly unsure of what to make of Nico's sudden inexplicable lack of input. They were a team and Nico was currently failing his job description. He couldn't though. He was trying to figure the teen out. Trying to figure out his situation.

"Let's go," Cameron said, giving little room for argument. Clearly, he had grown impatient of waiting for someone else to make a move. "We've got a bit of a drive." He started striding off through the crowd, hardly bothering to make sure that anyone followed him. Alex had gotten the message though and resumed his blindly following the lead, appearing to care only for the patch of floor space around himself. Nico followed behind, turning the newest happenings over in his head, trying to figure out how he was going to explain all the little details he had left out before. How he was going to explain to his unit—without reliving all the horrors. How he was going to rationalize MI's idea to place them all together…

He hadn't thought this would be a normal assignment, but… he had to give them props for surprising the hell out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nico's baaack!


	12. Set-up

Alex mistakenly believed that Jones couldn't surprise him – and he couldn't have been further from the truth. The evidence of that was standing just a handful of steps in front of him. The strange thing was that he felt neither angry nor relieved, just… tired.

And if that didn't open a can of worms, he didn't exactly want to explore…

Clearly, Jones had her reasons. Had her _professional_ determination that _this_ was the answer to all her problems. Ship him off to some foreign country alongside a man he only had a vague recollection of. Of course, in her office, she had just pretended that everything would be okay, that everything would be normal if he just tried to pretend it was so.

As it was, could he even trust this _man_? What made Jones convinced that _he_ wasn't another plant? Was it too much to believe that she had learned from past mistakes and that she wouldn't send him into a placement that was so extraordinarily _bad_? To be honest, he would have gladly slipped the escort in Madrid and vanished had he any inkling of what was waiting for him in this city. Or at least, he would have made the attempt. Made Jones rethink. It was too late now though.

Here he was, stuck staring at someone who featured far too heavily in his nightmares. Nightmares that he had yet to get a grasp on, but were enough to _terrify him_ in the moment and then rapidly fade into dust of fear and indistinct memories. Someone who he wasn't even sure of the name on. _Z… Ne… S…_ A present but inexplicable ghost in his mind. Of course, there was always the possibility that nothing was as it seemed.

That seemed to be the motto of his life at the moment.

"Do you need to get your things?" The unknown companion disrupted Alex's thoughts. _British accent though_. So, it looked like Jones wasn't trusting foreigners yet.

Instead of saying anything, Alex just shook his head and pulled the straps of his backpack a little bit tighter across his shoulder. Mouthing off hadn't worked in the past. This time, it was time for the silent treatment. For now.

The man eyed him speculatively, clearly taking in his mused appearance and no doubt the signs of Alex's most recent foray into danger. Alex kept his left arm hidden in the pocket of his sweatshirt, knowing that any passerby would likely just gawk at the contraption that still held him captive. And he wasn't about to give them any more talking points.

There was a long pause before the stranger cleared his throat. "Let's go." He gestured with his head toward the entryway. "We've got a bit of a drive."

Why did Jones think this would be any different?

Alex kept his head down and followed the man. What else could he do? Jones had decided his place for the time being. Though if it followed the same pattern as the last couple of placements, it wouldn't be for very long. No matter the _suit's_ warnings to behave. There was little use in getting comfortable when change was just around the corner. It always happened and he doubted that it mattered much whether the _drugs_ had spurred those changes or not. He was just genuinely disagreeable with authority figures.

Following the man out of the airport though, Alex couldn't help but send a shifty glance back at _him_. How was _he_ , a man from his nightmare, entwined with MI6? Was Jones just deciding to kill two birds with one stone and save some government money? Or was there something else going on? The way he was being followed made Alex think… _something else_.

They passed through the teeming crowds, winding between families lugging heavy suitcases in the parking area, over to a rather normal looking car. When Alex opened the doors though, he could feel the difference. Definitely an upgrade from the last cars he had ridden in. These were bulletproofed doors. Either Jones thought he really was at that much of a risk – though he still didn't entirely understand _why_ – or these guys liked to ride in safety. It was more likely the former.

Both men got into the front and Alex hunkered down in the backseat, using his backpack as his shield from the rest of the world – maybe they wouldn't be complete morons and read the signs in front of them that he didn't really want to talk. Of course, he knew that that was a little too much to ask for… after all, they didn't know anything _yet_. Whatever information Jones had given them was inside that briefing packet – all information about his past and what he had been through, with certain information redacted, of course.

The longer he could avoid questions though, the longer he felt like he would be able to make it. Maybe he should feel flattered that Jones thought he needed a double placement rather than a single. Perhaps with more than one person, Jones had the illusion that it was less likely someone would have turned on the government. Or maybe she by putting the two _victims_ together would create some sense of security. Or decrease government costs…

But really, how did _he_ , the stranger, fit into the mix?

"I'm Cameron and he goes by Nico." The man, the unknown, broke the ice, and gestured toward _him_ , attempting to make eye contact through the mirror.

 _Nico_.

That… didn't fit. It wasn't anywhere _near_ the name that he… didn't remember.

At least… he thought it wasn't.

To be fair, those days were indeterminably fuzzy and Alex was hardly able to pick out a clear memory during those three weeks – to the extreme frustration of Mrs. Jones – yet, he was almost _positive_ that the name Nico had never crossed either of their lips. It was… _something else_.

_Sh… Ch… Z… S…_

On the tip of his tongue, but only unlocked in his nightmares.

The man, Cameron, was obviously the one in charge. He was driving after all, asking all the questions. _Competent_. But then, where exactly did Nico come in? He seemed to be more than _just_ a civilian, but that didn't match with _then_ either. Yet they both held themselves alert, Cameron likely had a gun and a knife somewhere, and they both seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Definitely a step up from the previous agents he had been shoved with.

Of course, most had either treated him as if he were some kind of assignment that was designed to bring down their career or were actively trying to kill him, so… he couldn't say he had the greatest comparison.

"Ever been to Spain before?" Cameron asked.

Alex shrugged, doing his best to seem uninterested. "A couple times."

"Hablas espanol?"

The change in language threw him for a moment, but he once again responded with a shrug. " _Sí._ " He hadn't expected to hear his answer echoed by Nico.

_"Discúlpeme, ¿hablas español?"_

_Blinking. Confusion. Strange face. "Sí."_

_"¿Inglés?"_

The sudden flash of memory was both startling and disturbingly clear, unlike all of the other moments during those weeks. Brought with it were other vague feelings and remembrances. Of that first meeting. Which… that was the _beginning_.

The startling part wasn't that he remembered it. It was that Nico was a _Spaniard._

But that… didn't make any sense. Not from Jones' point of view. She clearly didn't want any foreigners involved, so why would Nico…?

Even Cameron seemed confused by Nico's response, which meant that he really didn't know _anything_ yet.

But how could everyone be so far in the dark and actually be capable of _protecting_ him?

That was the end of any attempt at conversation and Alex mulled over the sharp memory. He wondered if it would fade soon, like the other times he had remembered. Or if that too was a side-effect of the cocktail of drugs his guardian had been feeding him…

At some point, Cameron reached over and turned on the radio to a local station, clearly tired of the silence. Alex settled into his seat, content to observe for not. This was only going to be short-term, after all.

* * *

The drive took just a little bit over an hour. However, it had only been several hours since he had left the Royal & General that afternoon. Not even twelve hours since he had been released from the hospital with a mostly clean bill of health.

To put it simply, Alex was exhausted.

His doctor had told him to _take it easy_ for a few days.

Unlikely.

He didn't want to deal with either Cameron or Nico. Or food. Food was definitely optional at the point. Through the last time he had eaten a full meal was right before they released him from hospital…

Currently through, the top of his priorities list was to find a bed that would be his for at least the next couple of days and curl up on it. Sure, he didn't expect to sleep all that fitfully – unfamiliar place, strange sounds, etcetera – but a couple of hours would be better than the empty he was currently running on.

There was just one small problem with that plan… a problem that never even crossed his mind until they pulled into the front driveway of a decent sized house, hidden in plain sight, in a moderate-sized town. It was a one-story building, shaped in the traditional style of the Spanish houses, with the customary fence and gate surrounding it and separating it from the house next to it. There was a small, almost pointless front yard and porch, which completed the effect of _normal_.

No, the problem didn't register until they had pulled in and were getting out.

"The others are setting up inside." Cameron said as he shut his door.

 _Others_.

That meant there were more than just the two on his welcoming committee. More than he had ever had to deal with on a daily basis.

 _She wouldn't…_ Agents didn't tend to travel in groups…

The pieces clicked together the moment he stepped into the house and caught sight of the two additional men. _Two plus two is four. And what travels in fours?_ "Oh, _hell no_." The thought of being stuck with a whole group of _them_? His heart stuttered in his chest, the realization that Jones had set him up. "No. No. _No_." He gripped his backpack, mind whirling in a thousand directions, trying to figure if there was any way out. But he had already walked right into the trap Jones had for him. "You guys are bloody SAS!"

The two newcomers were looking at him as if he had lost his mind, but were also blocking any hope of escape out one of the side doors. Nico had already shut the front door, blocking that way out.

Why the hell did Jones throw him in with SAS again? Hadn't she learned?

Cameron cleared his throat awkwardly. "Alex, meet Jacobs and Mickey. The other half of our… group." _Unit_. Alex heard the unspoken word. Which meant Cameron was most likely the unit leader. _Captain_.

He was trapped.

The man blocking the door looked distinctively weedy yet… muscle-y. He also managed to tower over Alex in a vaguely threatening manner. The other, closer to the stairs, was as solid as a rock, shorter than the others were, but definitely not lacking in power.

All _four_ of them looked remarkably intimidating – much more so than any of his previous guardians, including Madam Sargent. Was Jones' plan to trap him into behaving?

_Where the hell does Nico fit into this? The Spaniard that's not a Spaniard?_

A series of quick glances were shot between the four men and Alex could almost hearing the information they were sharing. _Assignment? The kid. Threat? Running._ This was clearly a unit that had worked together for quite some time.

_But where does Nico fit into all of this…?_

"What unit?" Alex finally managed to croak out.

That caused more raised eyebrows, more silent communication, but finally Nico answered. "S-unit."

Alex mentally ran through the list of units he remembered being at Brecons while he was there. _They_ shouldn't have been in that batch of trainees. There was the off chance that they could have been, but it seemed unlikely that they were so comfortable in each other's space in just a couple of months. Well… _more_ than a couple of months…

He hadn't expected to be so blindsided, but Alex knew he couldn't afford to get _worked up_. That's how things always went downhill _before_. He needed to regroup and figure this out. _After sleep_. "Where's my room?"

"Second room on the left, green door." The response was clearly automatic and Alex pushed past the short man to go up the stairs. He couldn't deal with this right now. Couldn't expend the mental energy necessary to figure out what was _really_ going on. What Jones' plan was. Where _Nico_ fit into all of it.

"Just where do you think you're going?" For the first time, Cameron's chill vibe was broken and annoyance spilled into his tone, making Alex want to jump to attention. _Definitely the captain of the unit_.

Alex spun around, halfway up the stairs and fixed the man with his best glare. "In case you haven't noticed, I was just shipped out of the country by someone who pretends to think they know what's best for me." _Or they had no idea at all_. "I have hardly been out of hospital for twelve hours, I'm exhausted, and I honestly don't feel like dealing with you all right now. So, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." He pasted on a slightly more teenager appropriate expression. "I promise not to try to escape. _Tonight_."

He didn't give them a chance to respond and continued up the stairs. It wasn't hard to find the green door – there was only one, after all. He slipped inside, taking care to flip the lock on the inside. It wasn't likely to keep them out if they were determined, but it would at least give him a bit of warning. His heart was pounding in his chest, but it seemed that no one was going to follow him immediately.

Mentally and physically exhausted, Alex collapsed onto the bed, only pausing to make sure he didn't jar his hand. Honestly, he wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep at that moment, but there had been strict conditions to his release. And for once, he was actually planning to follow through.

His doctor had told him that normal painkillers would suffice for pain management now, and if he took them regularly, it would make it that much easier to follow through on his physical therapy. The intensive drilling and insistence that he gain confidence and knowledge about his own rehabilitation made more sense now. _Someone_ had known that he wouldn't be going regularly to a physical therapist.

He had escaped from his escort just long enough in the airport in Madrid to buy what felt like a lifetime's supply of paracetamol. He didn't trust anything _they_ had given him. He wasn't going to end up poisoned again. The little jaunt hadn't earned him any points with his escort, and was likely the reason for the warning shot at the airport, but Alex found that he didn't care.

Forcing himself back up, Alex searched through his pack for the packet of pills. He swallowed a couple dry, having forgotten to get a bottle of water in that same airport. He wasn't about to venture out of his room until absolutely necessary. He pulled out the tube of burn cream that he was supposed to be putting on his face and arm until all the redness was gone. Really though, it was only ever going to make it onto his face. He couldn't exactly _rub_ cream onto his right arm with his left still suffering from a lack of dexterity. But his face? He could do that.

With the requisite gestures taken care of, it was time to move on to the next stage. The stage he still highly disliked.

Alex slid the brace off his left hand and arm, exposing the still healing _monstrosity_. His hand still looked deformed, caught in what looked to be a permanent claw, though perhaps it wasn't quite as bad as it had been before. The joints were still swollen and he resigned himself to having to scrounge up some ice in the next couple of days. It would only get worse the longer he ignored it.

Perhaps the most frustrating part of it all was that simple movements, such as curling or straightening his fingers were difficult to impossible to complete. It took far too much effort and concentration to do such simple and normal actions. The doctor had assured him that it was normal and would get better with time, but time was passing…

He promised himself to attempt a nice long sleep as soon as he finished his exercises. It didn't matter that it was still early – he was exhausted. His brain was ready to shut down. Jones' scheming and plans could be dealt with at another time. And perhaps he still had a chance at catching more than a couple of hours of sleep, who knew what hospital drugs were still in his system.

The house was quiet though, with only the murmur of voices down the stairs. No distracting creaks and groans, no miscellaneous noises to distract his already distracted mind. It was unfamiliar, but still, quiet.

_Enjoy it while it lasts._


	13. Processing

The sharp snap of the door upstairs closing seemed to be the cue for all eyes to turn on Nico. He swallowed, realizing that he had long since passed the time of subterfuge and denial. His unit mates knew very little about his abduction – only vague thoughts and fears, the utter helplessness when confronted with the strange approach to captivity – and he had never once mentioned that it had been a teenager. Now though, the choice had been taken out of his hands. They were going to learn some of the sordid little details about his captivity – all because it directly related to _Alex_.

Perhaps what worried him most were Alex's parting words about _just_ getting out of hospital. It had been more than two months since their rescue, nearly three. Although he knew the teen had been in dire straits, he should have been out in at least two weeks, a month, at the most. Yet… there was no reason why he would outright lie to them.

Alex's shock and horror at realizing they were SAS had been clear enough. From the fragments that Nico was piecing together, Alex had some sort of history with a SAS unit, and it didn't sound like a nice history.

_"Who… came?"_

_"The SAS. They're a branch of the British military—"_

_"No… what units?"_

_"D- and F-units."_

_"Oh…"_

It was a similar, yet different reaction to when they had been rescued. Alex had tensed as soon as the words had come out of his mouth, but looked relieved when he seemed to not recognize the unit. It made Nico wonder just what else the strange teenager knew. It was… unnatural for one so young to be kept in such a tight check by military intelligence. _What had he witnessed? What did he know? Where had he been? Why were they_ all _so focused on him?_

The musing though wasn't helping him with the current problem of his unit mates. They were _all_ looking to him for answers. Trying to figure out the connections. They had all heard during the briefing that Nico would know the assignment. He could hardly tell them that he had been just as blindsided as they had. That he didn't have the answers they were looking for.

"Nico?"

Nico glanced back up the stairs one last time, almost hoping that the teen would come out once again. That _he_ wouldn't have to run this circus all on his own. Nothing happened. The house was silent.

He was on his own.

Choking back a sigh, Nico waved the others into one of the adjoining rooms – the kitchen, as it turned out. If he was going to spill whatever he knew… the least he could do was try to keep himself as the only one reliving nightmares tonight. Alex didn't need to overhear it.

They all took a seat around the table – with Nico feeling distinctly as if he were preparing for an interrogation – and Cameron tossed the packet of papers from the suit down in the middle.

"We'll get to those, but first I want to know what you know," Cameron said, fixing Nico with a stare that promised dire consequences if he left something out. "You looked like you had seen a ghost when you saw him and he acted pretty much the same way. So, explain."

Nico licked his lips, trying to corral his thoughts back into a semblance of order. There were plenty of reasons he had never fully explained his abduction to his unit mates, not the least of which because it had involved a minor. It was also vastly different to explain it to an impartial psychologist whose job was to help process events than to his unit mates. The psychologist was at least _trained_ to deal with it. Nico had just wanted to put it all behind him.

He had gotten some distance. Had rationalized some of the events. But… it was clearly coming back to haunt him.

He took a deep breath and let it out all in one rush. "I met him just about three months ago." And they would know _exactly_ when that was, as it was ingrained into their brains probably almost as deeply as it was into his own. Three months ago, he had disappeared while returning to base. His unit mates had spent nearly a month fruitlessly searching for him, including sacrificing their own free time. Convinced that he hadn't gone AWOL.

"Shit, Nico. _That_ kid? He was there?"

Nico nodded. That was just the tip of the iceberg. The tip of all the questions that needed to be answered and he didn't have all the answers. "He was their target, not me. It took a while to catch on, but… they used my life to gain his _cooperation_. I don't know why…"

_"Decided to finally show your spirit, Rider?" The man loomed, but Nico couldn't do anything. Not for fear of making it worse. "I won't tolerate your cheek like Rothman. Get up, or we'll show your friend our finest."_

_Alex glanced at Nico, but a moment later a bullet passed far too close for Nico's liking._

_Fear. Helplessness._

_"Get up," the man growled. "Or the next time, we won't miss."_

And what a time to have flashbacks… Nico shook his head, trying to shake the intrusive thoughts out. He knew from experience that once they started, they only tended to get worse. He still didn't understand why Alex had been so persistent on not letting them kill a complete stranger – to take so much torture just to keep a stranger alive. He could have saved himself _so much_ pain, but he hadn't given in. Honestly, something quite worthy of any soldier's respect.

"But… he's so young." Cameron's puzzlement was clear and Nico couldn't help but echo it.

"I know. I thought, at first, it was a ransom arrangement. Typical schoolboy attire and all. But it wasn't." _It couldn't have been further from that_. "It was… straight up torture." He couldn't repress the shudder this time. While he had dealt with the consequences of his captivity – mostly – it didn't change the fact that it had been a _teenager_ that had taken the brunt of everything. One who had been so stoic, until that final scream.

"He didn't know you were SAS," Jacobs said, seeming to realize that questioning further about the captivity wouldn't get them the answers they wanted. _Bless him._ "And he didn't know before entering the house. So, how'd he figure it out from just seeing us then?"

Nico shrugged, trying to throw off the icy chill that some of the memories brought. "I don't know. I never told him. As far as he knew, I was a Spaniard, and that's what our captors knew as well." The others all nodded. That didn't need explaining, it was standard operating procedure when in an unfamiliar environment. "By the time D- and F-units showed up, Alex was in a pretty bad way. I stayed as a native around him just so he'd have a little continuity. And I never thought I'd see him again."

That was the kicker. He had thought that Alex had gone back to his family to recover from the ordeal. He had never expected to see the same teenager months later in some sort of messed up assignment.

"Other than that, I don't really know much about it. We didn't exactly have a lot of heart to hearts." _I'm sorry. They probably wouldn't have grabbed you if they thought I would cooperate without leverage._ "His name's Alex. He can be quite sarcastic, when he talks, doesn't seem to look out for himself very well, and…" The memories of their last few hours featured heavily in his nightmares. "All the fingers on his left hand were broken. Right before we were rescued."

A heavy silence settled onto the room. Nico knew that that last admission was only giving them a glimpse of what had happened during their time in captivity. It hardly captured the worst. But it did show that the assignment wasn't going to be an _easy one_. Someone powerful had sent him out of the country for his own protection. This kid was mixed up in something serious, no matter his age.

"That's beyond messed up." Mickey stared at him. "They tortured a _kid_ like _that_?"

Nico nodded and swallowed. "That was just… the end. There was… a lot more." He swallowed again, not liking the direction the conversation had turned. He had already reported it twice, in an official setting. Recounted it far too many times with his psychologist. He didn't really want to do it again. Not for fear of triggering a worse flashback. His eyes caught on the envelope. "How about… how about we see what the files have to say and then… I'll try to answer whatever else you want to know."

Cameron studied him for a long moment, before pulling the packet off the table and opening it up. The papers had been stacked as tightly as possible into the envelope and made quite an impressive stack. There was very little wasted space on the papers, each grouped with another couple under several different headings. One section had general information for the assignment and reporting procedures. A stack of papers had to do with one Alex Rider. And other couple of sheets were marked for _Nicolas Kendrick_.

Cameron passed the Nicolas Kendrick specific papers over to him, but Nico didn't glance at them. He wasn't sure he was ready for whatever MI was throwing at him. He needed to know more about the assignment first.

Predictably, the first papers selected for examination were not the assignment specifications, but instead the ones that described Alex Rider and whatever history MI had deemed important to include. Cameron spread the papers across the table, but following long ingrained tradition, Jacobs was the one to read off the pertinent information.

"Alex Rider, just turned sixteen. Lived in Chelsea for seven years. Parents are… dead. Since he was an infant. Uncle has – _had_ – custody. He died two years ago. Unnamed guardian until June, then switched to a guardianship arrangement – those are tricky to get. Lived on his own until he was kidnapped. Guardianship arrangement revoked. Spent the last two months guardian hopping. Current guardian listed as one…" He shuffled through the papers, before looking up at Nico with a strange expression on his face. "Nicolas Kendrick."

Nico's jaw dropped. " _What?_ "

Jacobs nodded slowly. "That's definitely your name they have here." He nodded toward the pile of papers that had been specifically marked for Nico. "And if I have my guess right, I'll bet those papers there are the ones finalizing the arrangement. MI certainly does things a little different than central command."

_Such as giving someone guardianship of a_ child _without asking their permission first?_ What exactly did that even _mean_?

"What else do we have?" Cameron asked, shaking Nico out of his thoughts once again.

"Not much," Jacobs said, skimming over the papers once again. "Brief medical information… Allergies of some sort toward medications. We should see what those are."

_Shaking. Gasping for air._

_"It seems that you don't like the tranquilizers very much, hmm?"_

_"Of course, if you had done your research, you should have known about that already."_

Nico shook himself. "Some sort of sedative. He had a… bad reaction."

The others didn't even bat an eye.

Jacobs scanned through the pages, summing up the information. "He has been shot at least once… in the chest. Recent scarring on his lungs from water inhalation. That hand injury you told us about. Poisoning of some sort, more recent. And…" He flipped through the relevant pages again, this time frowning, while comparing two different parts of the report. "He has burns and smoke inhalation injuries from… about two weeks ago, give or take. It says here that his childhood home was recently burned down—and I'm assuming that he was nearby when it happened." And if he had burns and smoke inhalation, he would have likely been _very_ nearby. In all likelihood, the teen had been _inside_ the house while it burned.

Mickey swore. "That's attempted murder."

"That's what they're treating it as. Apparently, a _'long series of events has implied that his life is in danger.'_ No shit, Sherlock." Jacobs glared down at the papers. "That's all they've given us here, but I'm willing to bet that someone has enough information on him that they could write a couple of books. There are so many holes in this…"

Nico knew. Though they may have listed the physical injuries, the physical portions of his healing, those were sometimes the easiest parts to heal. The mental injuries were the long-lasting ones… There was probably a psych evaluation on the kid _somewhere_ —impossible for there not to be—but they certainly didn't have it. Even the barest bones of information would have helped them, because they didn't know what they were up against. It would be difficult to protect Alex—especially if it was from himself.

"Well… he's clearly been through _a lot_ in the past couple of months. I think we can… allow him his small teenage rebellions. To an extent." Cameron spread out the next set of papers, this time the ones that told the particulars of the assignment. There was a possibility that more information was there… but not likely. "Nico, take a look at those papers they gave you. Something tells me that they're going to want a copy back right away."

Nico sighed, but started looking through the papers. As he expected, it was mostly legal jargon that made little sense to him. The gist was clear though. Until his guardianship was revoked or they came to some sort of mutual agreement, Alex Rider was to be his ward. At twenty-seven and without any romantic interest in his life, Nico wasn't quite sure he was ready to be a parent…

* * *

By the time they had finished the initial comb through the papers, it was obvious that this assignment was far more than a regular protection detail. This was a long-term assignment, one that would last until the imminent threat was gone, and Alex was safe again. Some terrorists group was targeting him and though the papers didn't say which one, it was certainly one with some sort of power and reach. The papers also didn't specify _why_ he was being targeted.

Only one vague note indicated that Alex knew more information and that if he desired to share more with the unit, he was within his rights to do so. They had signed the OSA, after all. Whatever the case, Nico thought it highly unlikely that Alex would confide in them. At least, not for a while. Nico suspected that Alex's seeming _teenage rebellion_ was more based on the fact that he didn't trust them.

With all the twists and turns that it looked like had been thrown Alex's way over the past several years and months, Alex had likely learned to be suspicious of _everything_. Looking for hidden motives in every corner was no doubt exhausting.

All the more reason why Nico couldn't understand MI's reasoning for placing _him_ as the guardian. Their initial meetings and interactions were all based on subterfuge, lies, and torture. What made MI think that this was a good paring? Because they had a _connection_? It wasn't even a positive one. It had been more of a _'let's not die'_ kind of situation, not one to inspire confidence in the other. Not _bonding_.

_What were they thinking?_

There was more to the packet than just guardianship papers though. Additional papers outline Alex's schooling and rehabilitation. They had deemed him too high of a risk to attend school – no surprise there – though his removal date coincided with the day that he had been readmitted to the hospital after the fire. For now though, Alex had assignments to complete, which they were to turn in along with the updates. Testing – and wasn't that a shocking reminder of his age, that Alex was in the midst of preparing for GCSEs– would be dealt with at a later point in time.

There was also information about his current treatment plan, which included self-regulation of his medication – with a note that Alex had the authority to refuse any medication and to seek out sources of his own supply – and weekly physical therapy. Psychological counseling would also start up again when the physical therapy did, but a note indicated that Alex was likely to be uncooperative.

By the time they had all finished coordinating and compiling the information, it was well past dinnertime. Thankfully, the kitchen was fully stocked and between the four of them, they were able to scrounge together a decent meal. Nothing like having real food as an incentive for an assignment.

The other three had looked at Nico unanimously, when trying to decide who would go let Alex know that the meal was ready. He _almost_ hit Mickey when he mentioned that it was _his_ ward and therefore _his_ responsibility—but Cameron beat him to it. The teasing was all in good fun though, their way of blowing off steam and the stress of so many unknowns in the assignment.

He was almost smiling as he walked up the stairs and paused in front of the closed door. The room was the one furthest from the kitchen, so they had hopefully not been too loud in the plotting and planning session. There was no sign of light under the door, adding credence to Alex's earlier statement. It was entirely possible that he was exhausted and had wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Nevertheless, Nico knocked on the door. "Hey Alex, we've got some food ready."

There was no response or sound from the other side of the door.

He knocked again. "Alex?"

After a moment of silence, he tried the doorknob. It was locked, much as he had expected. He rattled it a bit, but didn't want to wake Alex if he really was sleeping. "If you're up, let me know. Or… I'm going to go find the key." It wasn't an empty threat. They all had a duty to make sure that Alex remained safe… even if that meant checking up on him when he just wanted space. They had given him the mental security of being able to lock his door, but they had to be able to get in, in the event of an emergency—and to make sure that he hadn't pulled a runner.

The files had said he was a flight risk, after all.

With still no response, he returned to the kitchen. "Anyone got the key for the bedrooms?"

Jacobs dug into his pocket and tossed him a set of keys. "Smallest one on there, for his room. Everything okay?"

Nico shrugged. "I think he's asleep, but he locked the door. Just checking." He left the room and headed back down the hall. He knocked once more, giving Alex one more chance to chase him away if he _really_ didn't want to be disturbed. When there was still no response, he slid the proper key in and turned the lock.

The room turned out to be not as dark as he had suspected—the bedside lamp was still on, but on the dimmest setting. Alex was most definitely asleep though. He was sprawled across the covers, not having bothered to untuck the sheets, still wearing the same set of clothes—minus the sweatshirt. Said sweatshirt was pillowed underneath his head, along with one of his arms, while the other arm was propped up on top of the actual pillow.

It looked like an awkward position, but it seemed that the elevation was what he had been after. The brace was impossible to miss, covering from his wrist, almost all the way to his fingertips—and it looked anything but comfortable. Apparently though, it was already a step down from what it had been while it was casted. Not as awkward now, but still unmanageable.

Even as more light spilled into the room from the hall, Alex didn't even twitch. He was fast asleep. Relaxed. Unguarded. Nico had a feeling that such a sight would be a rarity. He remembered all too vividly the cold nights during their captivity, where Alex hardly slept because of nightmares. Three months wouldn't have changed very much—this was likely only a sign that he had recently gotten out of hospital. The first few nights might be smooth sailing, but after that… it would be a toss of the dice.

With a hint of frown on his face, Nico closed the door, taking care to re-lock it just as it had been. Though all parties know the farce for what it was, they could at least pretend that they had let him be for the night.

Nico didn't know what exactly he was supposed to do as the teen's guardian. He had clearly been given a hard lot in life so far, after losing family member after family member. Then living in a sort of limbo for weeks on end after _someone_ terminated his guardianship arrangement. Alex had been independent, only months earlier. Living on his own, with only predetermined check-in requirements and expectations. Now… it was different.

That was likely why so many of his previous placements had ended badly—ignoring the whole poisoning issue, of course. Someone had decided that throwing all parts of the teenager's life and living arrangements into chaos would be safer. Nico was pretty sure that it was all going to backfire. It made him wonder just who was calling the shots for this teenager.

Alex had hinted that he knew exactly who it was—and that it hadn't been a new thing. Which meant that that someone was involved with military intelligence. Which meant that… the connections ran much deeper than they had theorized.

He shook off his musing and headed back downstairs.

Cameron stopped him before he could reenter the kitchen. "Listen, I know MI does some messed up things, but Central Command has our backs. If this is going to cause you problems, mess up your recovery, whatever, tell me. I will fight tooth and nail for my unit. I don't care whatever shit this teenager is mixed up in. If this is an issue for you, we're pulling out and someone else can take him on."

Nico sighed, rubbing at the tension headache that had rapidly sprung up over the past hour. "I'm sure MI has a damn good reason for doing this. We'll… we'll figure it out." He shrugged. "Besides, maybe knowing the kid is getting looked after will… _help_." Maybe being in control of the situation for once would help with those persistent strings of guilt for not doing more _then_. So long as the flashbacks were under control.

Cameron studied him closely, before nodding. "Jacobs took first watch and Mickey has second. You're off for tonight. Figure we'll give him the ground rules tomorrow, after he's settled a bit."

It was a good plan. It would give him time to process. Both of them. And maybe he could figure out just what MI's plan was…


	14. Splintering

He felt groggy and grumpy when he woke up, but knew that it was from sheer exhaustion – both mental and physical – compounding itself until he crashed. It was also the first _full_ night of sleep that he had gotten outside of the hospital in well over a couple of months, perhaps longer. Surprising though it was to find himself in a houseful of SAS, there was the possibility that it would at least help him feel secure for a couple more nights. He could use the rest.

Alex couldn't say that he was thrilled that Jones thought the SAS were the next best option for him though. Now he had to worry about _four_ people potentially invading his space, demanding answers. _And Nico…_ The fact that they seemed to have left him alone the night before was at least a point in their favor, though he was withholding judgement until much later.

At half seven, he convinced himself to leave his room, knowing that hiding wasn't going to get him any food, and as he had missed dinner the night before, he was hungry. Taking medicine on an empty stomach was also frowned upon, but then, what the doctors didn't know wouldn't kill them. Unsurprisingly, the others were already up. They likely had some sort of regular schedule that involved getting up at some godforsaken hour. _If_ he could sleep, he would be reeling in the feeling of being able to laze around as much as he wanted.

Alex crept into the kitchen, trying not to draw any undue attention to himself while he rummaged through the cupboards and fridge for something edible. By some miracle, they didn't bother him. He poured some unidentified cereal into a bowl, along with some milk, and sat down at the table, as far away from anyone else as possible.

Nico wasn't around, but the two others – Mickey? Jacobs? – were busy arguing over something in the newspaper. That didn't stop their semi-frequent glances in his direction though. Alex did his best to ignore them, but they made him feel like he was a bug under a microscope. It was only after several minutes of uncoordinated eating that he realized _why_ they kept glancing at him.

Throughout the entirety of their interactions the day before, he had kept his hand hidden, not once pulling it out of his sweatshirt. No one had seen the brace before, the bulky and repulsive trap that captured his hand.

Self-consciously, he drew his hand back into his lap under the table and kept eating. Now that his mind was on it though, he couldn't help but notice how ungainly his eating was. He would have thought that he would have gotten better at using his non-dominant hand after almost two months. It had, but only by shades – something else he could blame on the poison? He still felt as clumsy as a two-year-old just learning to use a spoon.

He slouched down in his chair ever so slightly. Although he might have pretended at one point that the others' actions didn't matter… his brain clearly differed in opinion. He could feel the spark of burning annoyance taking root in his mind. He finished his food, dumped the dishes into the sink, and turned to give a scowling glare at the one persistent gaze still following him.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer."

The soldier jerked back—he honestly wasn't sure _which_ one it was—and Alex smirked, before leaving the room. It seemed that he still had _that_ touch at least.

Thankfully, no one said anything and he retreated to his room with no problems—the annoyance fading away, until he wasn't entirely sure it had been there in the first place.

Although so far, the arrangement seemed _better_ than the other ones, he doubted that it would last long. He didn't do well with confinement—and he wouldn't even have school to break up the monotony of his days. If Jones thought that keeping him hidden away in the house for days on end would be the answer, she clearly hadn't learned from the past. Two days—and then he would _have_ to explore his surroundings.

He glanced around his room, before moving to the wardrobe and unpacking his meager belongings. His brain was caught between making the best of a bad situation and plotting the fastest way out. However, he had nothing now. No way of disappearing without a trace. All of his carefully stashed papers were still _carefully stashed_ at his old school. A country away. Likely in a place where he would never return to again.

He frowned and threw his empty backpack into the back of the wardrobe.

This was his life, and it currently sucked.

* * *

Alex let his head fall against the desk with an annoyed thump. He was done with poetry.

_Done_.

It felt like pointless busy work—which really, that was what _all_ of his classes felt like. He remembered the teacher singing the praises of whoever this famous poet was, _Sor Juana…_ something or other. He knew it would be important when—or perhaps, _if_?—he ever got around to sitting the exams for Spanish Literature, but until then… it seemed like it took more effort to piece together thoughts and concepts of the somewhat archaic Spanish than it was worth. He already knew and spoke the language well enough.

Pointless.

Unfortunately, he wasn't the one writing the coursework or the test and he had to complete everything if he wished to get a good grade. Even if that meant reading poetry from the 1600s. After all, his Spanish classes were the only ones that he had a hope of getting a good grade in. His grades had suffered horribly during the past several months. Not that it was his fault—kidnapping, and the subsequent poisoning and psychological disturbances, didn't exactly care whether he had an assignment due or not.

Mrs. Jones had assured him that his books—and eventually some sort of tutoring system—would be set up for him and she had had the gall to urge him to take the first couple of days to relax. He hadn't laughed in her face, but it was a near thing. Especially now, when he was in a house with _four_ SAS soldiers. _Relaxing_ was not exactly high on his list of things to do.

The only bright side was that she at least seemed to _care_ about his schooling and education. Seemed to think that he could amount to something in the future, even tough that future seemed untenable at best.

He sat back up and tried to read through the unfamiliar prose once again, hoping that some sort of insight would jump out at him. As far as the past several months were concerned, he had to start over. Either the notes were so disjointed that they didn't make any sense, or he didn't have them in the first place. His backpack full of notes and books… well, that had apparently joined him on his jaunt to the house. Everything there had burned along with the rest of the house.

_That_ afternoon was still nothing but a blur in his memory… and no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn't remember what had driven him out of the school. All he remembered was the strange sense of urgency, a sudden despair, and later, the feeling of being trapped and choking—again.

A sharp rap on his door brought him out of his brooding and he glanced up. The person who had reintroduced himself—or rather been introduced as—Nico, was leaning on the edge of his door frame. "Studying?" The man asked as he glanced over a few of the papers spread across the desk.

Alex shrugged. To him, this didn't count as studying. He wasn't really _learning_ anything useful.

"Well, how about you take a break. We need to set some house rules."

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes, guessing that it was more of a demand than a request. However, he had honestly been expecting something of the sort from the moment of his arrival—his other guardians had been quick to lay down the law. Surprisingly, they had let him sleep through the evening.

"Come on out to the kitchen. I don't think you want everyone invading your space."

Alex sighed. He wouldn't put it past them to try something like that if he didn't cooperate. At least for now they were _pretending_ to be considerate. He doubted that any of them would think twice about trying to overpower a teenager though. He was smaller than they were in every aspect—but that didn't mean he didn't pack a punch. He could hold his own, if needed.

He pushed his chair away from the desk and the fruitless scribbling. Most of his hard work was rather illegible, due to using his non-dominant hand. Although he had gotten better at it after nearly two months of practice, it was only for the simplest of things. And he had honestly done very little of the homework assigned. Jones had promised a computer in the near future, but he wasn't holding out much hope.

He followed Nico out to the kitchen and wasn't surprised to see the others there waiting for them. It did make it feel like it was going to be some sort of interrogation though. His defenses slammed into place, even though they were logically the people who should be the least threatening. However, after MI6's latest screw-ups… he couldn't help but be suspicious.

He bypassed the table, electing for a more secure position. The edge of the counter served him well, and he habitually slid his braced arm back into the pouch provided by the sweatshirt—the main reason why he wore it—before taking view of his surroundings. His back was all but against the wall, all the windows and doors were easily visible, and other potential threats were all but neutralized.

_They_ couldn't spring anything on him.

Nico and the smallest one of the bunch—he really needed to figure out names—both gave him suspicious glances, but didn't say anything.

Alex clenched his good hand into a fist, trying to make some of the tension seep out of his body. After all, Nico had just suggested a chat and rules. But here he was, sizing up the _enemy_ , trying to pick out weaknesses and what buttons to push in an emergency…

And in long standing tradition, Alex couldn't let them have the first word, and by the time the kitchen had slipped into an uncomfortable silence, he reached his limit. "What do you want?" _Put on a front, pretend… Nico doesn't really know you._ They were expecting a typical teenage – and no matter what Nico might have said, what his _observations_ were – Alex was going to give them a _typical_ teenager. It was safer that way. Same as with all the other guardians. _And those had turned out so well_ _…_

"I assume you know _why_ you're here?" To his credit, Cameron didn't seem fazed by his attitude. _Unit leader_.

"You all wanted to talk to me." Alex knew very well that that wasn't what Cameron had been referring to but it felt _good_ to mess with someone again. _Not that that was how all the downfalls started before…_

"I meant _here_."

Alex was pleased to hear the frustration in his tone – _success_ – but didn't respond. Instead, he tried to force down the shifting emotions that rose at that simple question. _Why?_ He could give them a myriad of responses. _Terrorists. Forced into spying. Assassination. Fighting the_ wrong _terrorists. Grudges…_ The list could go on and on. And he didn't want to get into the details that Jones hadn't already shared. So, he settled for the simplest and most vague explanation. "MI6 failed to hide me in plain sight. _Again_."

And wasn't that a moment of truth. Eyebrows raised all around the room. That was information that they hadn't had? _Why would they not know what agency they were working under?_

"MI6?" Cameron asked, raising a careful eyebrow.

Alex swallowed. He hadn't intended to actually _give_ them information. "You don't know who you're working for?"

Cameron crossed his arms. "Central command told us military intelligence was calling the shots. Not if it were 5 or 6."

_Jones…_ Alex could feel his heart racing as he tried to wrap his mind around it. Surely if she were _trying_ to keep him safe, there had to be some sort of information shared. And now they knew that _he knew_ more – surely that would only result in more questions. It was best to redirect to what they already knew. "And I'm sure they also forgot to mention anything about _who_ you're supposed to be protecting me from."

Nico raised an eyebrow at him. "You know?"

_Shit_.

That had not been his plan.

Alex clamped his mouth shut. _They didn't know_. His _own_ hope of finding answers were gone, just like that. He _knew_ MI6 had more information than they were letting on. He had a sinking feeling that somewhere in the depths of his mind he had more information as well – but he _couldn't_ remember. But no one had bothered to give that information to the ones _protecting_ him. It was a complete mess.

Nico was still staring at him, waiting for a response.

"I… have my suspicions." Alex looked away, trying to tamp down on the sinking feeling of despair. His only shot at information, and here he was, stuck in the middle of who the hell knows Spain. That said, he wasn't going to tell them just how much or how little he knew about the whole situation. "Now, what did you _really_ want?" Right, get back on that typical sarcastic teenager train.

Aside from a slight flicker to his eyes, Cameron didn't react to Alex's first statement, but went along with the change in subject. "We weren't exactly given a lot of information, so we don't have much to work from." He paused, as if waiting for Alex to volunteer information. _Not happening_. "The basic rules might change, but for now, they're simple. If you wish to leave the house, you have to be accompanied. It looks like whoever is after is quite possibly international…" He trailed off, glancing at Alex questioningly, before carrying on. "This means that even though we are in a smaller out of the way town, we're still treating this as a high threat. So, if you want or _need_ to go out, we'll arrange something. No solo trips."

Alex nodded blindly. So far, normal. Not that he really expected to follow those rules much longer than a couple of weeks. He had lived on his own for months and had no problems. He could manage in a foreign city on his own.

"Wandering around at night is out of the question, so don't even think about it."

Alex frowned slightly, wondering what exactly _inspired_ that warning.

"Someone is on duty every night, and it's more an attack first, question later kind of situation."

_Of course._ That would put a bit of a limit on his nighttime wandering. He didn't exactly have a burning desire to gain _another_ bullet wound. One was more than enough, thank you very much.

"Whoever's in charge is working out your schooling arrangements, though you should already have some of your assignments. They're also arranging your physical therapy and counseling."

Alex scowled at that. He was plenty happy about getting school and physical therapy worked out—he couldn't teach himself everything and he _did_ want as much movement back in his hand as possible. But counseling… If they gave him any choice in the matter, he _wouldn't_ go back. Not that they would give him a choice. Jones would force him into it anyway, but she had no leverage against him now. There wasn't anything he was trying to gain—except for his freedom, and that wouldn't happen for weeks yet—so there was no reason for him to cooperate with her wishes.

"Other than that, you're free within the house. Staying within reason, of course."

All in all, it seemed reasonable. _Scarily_ reasonable. Alex nodded; his thoughts still annoyed by the therapy expectation. "Okay, so no building bombs in the shower, then." The sarcasm slipped out, and by then it was too late. Because the others didn't read it as _sarcasm_. _Someone_ had written something in those files to make them seriously consider that as a possibility.

Flustered, Alex tried to backtrack. "I'll have you know I've never exploded something on purpose." Well… that he'd built… Plenty of things had blown up around him, caused by him, but he hadn't ever _made_ it in the first place.

"…on _purpose?_ " Someone muttered.

Definitely not the train of thought he wanted them following. They would think that _he_ was the mastermind. Or that criminals wanted him because he knew how to _make_ things. Or something like that. He had to get them off _that_ subject before the inadvertently unearthed something he didn't want them to know.

He could feel his heart rate speeding up as they started at each other. Each one not sure what to make of the other. They couldn't watch him like _that_. He would _never_ have a chance to get away. Where was he failing? Was it in his determination to not actually _lie_ to them? Had Jones set him up too well?

_Would it ever be safe?_

Alex clenched his hand, eyes darting from one person to another, calculating their suspicion. _Far too high_. "So, uh, just who is getting stuck with the whole guardianship thing?" The question was out of his mouth before he had full thought through it. A distraction it was, but he didn't _really_ want to know the answer. He swallowed, ignoring the pounding of his heart. "I _know_ that Jones will have passed it off as soon as possible."

The four men shifted slightly, glancing between themselves.

"That would be me."

Alex stared.

_Panic._

_Fear._

_Choking._

_Terror._

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him, but instead of dousing the flames in his mind, it only served to push them higher.

_I can't… trust you…_

The world felt distant, like a badly tuned radio. Fuzzy. Indistinct.

_It's like Jones' office all over again._

Nico kept talking. "I think they thought someone familiar would be preferable."

Something snapped. " _Familiar?!_ " Alex felt like something had been ripped out. Some control circuit had stopped finally, leaving nothing behind but the residual feelings of betrayal… anger… He felt dizzy, out of breath, and completely enraged all at the same time. "I'm going to _kill_ her." The rage billowed up, feeling _very_ right at the moment. Jones was _naïve_ if she thought that this was going to work. If she honestly thought that some bastardization of familiarity would help him. When the only contact between them had been the _worst_ of situations, all thrown behind some kind of sham. Someone he couldn't even _trust_.

_Ha… Se… Ved… Zed…_

He couldn't remember.

Couldn't… remember _simple_ facts.

But he _knew_ Nico wasn't who he said he was.

"Alex—"

Alex's gaze snapped to the four men in front of him, their varying shades of suspicion and distrust only serving to convince him that they couldn't be trusted. Not _now_.

He couldn't do this.

It was too much.

The rage kept bubbling and overflowing, taking over his thoughts.

Out of control.

This was all Jones' fault. She thought everything could be fixed.

It couldn't.

He glared directly at Nico. "If you think that just because we've met before means I'm going to like you, you've got it wrong. She's got it wrong. You _lied_ to me." Yes, that's right. It was all lies. That's what his life was now, a lie.

The glare had Nico taking a step back, his jaw dropping. " _What_?"

Alex scowled. "You know what I'm talking about."

"What?"

"You lied. Every time we spoke and you _knew_ it." Could he trust anyone? Was it all a conspiracy? "You expect me to trust you after that?" Jones expected him to? To just _forget_? But that's what he did anyway. He couldn't remember anything half the time anymore.

_"Come on kid, trust me."_

_He couldn't focus anymore. He was so close to breaking. They wanted… they wanted…_

_"Hey Alex, come on. You've got to drink something." A solitary cup pressed against his lips, trying to get him to swallow just a little bit of the water._

_He blinked heavily, staring at the man. "Who… you?"_

_"Zeb, remember?"_

That name.

_Zeb_.

Full of lies.

_What worth is a name if it is a lie?_

Alex shook his head, bringing himself away from the memories. Like shards of glass in his brain. There one moment and gone the next. All the things he couldn't remember. "You lied. Every. Single. Time. And you didn't care." The rage continued to burn hotter and hotter, seeming to take over his senses. "I _almost_ trusted you there. You were the only one. You weren't _suffering_. You were _safe_."

The betrayal.

He had pretended to be a confidant.

He had pretended to be _normal_.

They could have escaped.

They _should have_ escaped.

_Zeb should've known_ how. Nico would have known.

_Why?_

He could have been _whole_.

_But… was there something else….?_

He couldn't remember it though.

Could hardly remember anything but the tortures.

_"Sleepy."_

_There was a quiet laugh from his companion, before a cautious hand touched his elbow again. "I'm sure you are, kid."_

_"'m not a kid…" Alex mumbled. A pleasant drifting feeling was washing over him again, and he wondered just how much they had drugged him._

_"Sure." The voice said, but clearly thought otherwise._

"—Alex?"

The word cut through him, cut through his rage, snapping the strings at just the opportune moment. And then it flooded back, uncontrollable.

"How the _hell_ am I supposed to trust _you_?" He leapt off the counter, grabbing at the first thing his hand came into contact with—a mug—and used it to gesture wildly. "You kept _everything_. Why should I trust you? You could be with _them_!" And Jones had just thrown him here again. "I can't even keep… it all… straight. It's fuzzy. It's blank. _Useless_! Just you being nice. And _stupid_. Because I was a _nobody_. And I can't—I can't…"

He needed to breathe. He couldn't do it.

_"Maybe we should just take your buddy next, huh? Think he'd last very long?" Long fingers pulled at his hair, forcing his head back even further than was comfortable. "You don't seem very fond of him. He'd probably be cursing your existence after just a few minutes."_

_He couldn't stop the gasp that escaped his mouth, when the breath was forced out of him by an unseen punch. He twitched, but couldn't do more._

_No scream._

_No pleas._

_He wouldn't let them win._

_"Now, you're going to help us Rider. We'll give you another chance, but mess up, and you_ know _what we'll do to your friend."_

He blinked. That wasn't _him_. That was _them_. Threatening. Torture.

_"…help us Rider… or else…"_

The all-consuming anger bled away, replaced by terror, panic. He threw what was in his hand—not noticing the shattering and curses around him. He reached up and grabbed at his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to decide whether to push the memories away or focus in the hopes of learning _something_. "Damn it!"

He couldn't remember.

Couldn't remember anything _useful_.

Just the feelings of being threatened, but not _why_. Just the mere glimpses of his attackers, but not _who_. Just the vague sensation that there was still something was terribly, horribly, _awfully_ wrong with him. And that _face_.

He could feel the onset of panic, similar to what he had felt in Jones' office— _yesterday?_ —and knew he didn't want an audience.

He cast one look around the kitchen, ripping his gaze away from the eyes that were studying him. Without another word, he ran from the kitchen, to his room. The resounding crash of his door as it slammed shut hardly made a dent in his thoughts, as he tried to escape from his own thoughts.

He couldn't remember.

It was all blank.

He was _useless_.


	15. Speculation

An uneasy silence settled in the kitchen – but Nico's thoughts were still with Alex's dramatic departure. The play of emotions that had flown across Alex's face in such a short amount of time had been… disturbing, to say the least. The animosity, disgust, and _fear_ were all directed at an unknown third party. Perhaps himself. Perhaps them.

The moment the conversation had started, Alex's unease with them, masquerading as nonchalance and snarky responses, was clear. All joking aside, Alex's responses had flipped from panic to sarcasm so rapidly it was difficult to tell if he had been joking about bombs or if explosions really were a risk when he was around.

It certainly put the whole _terrorist organization after him_ thing into another light.

Almost as if he were grasping for straws, Alex had gone for a shot about the guardianship. It was no surprise that Alex had guessed that it had been assigned rather than just by chance – he seemed to know whoever was pulling the strings fairly well. What had been surprising though was the complete flip of his personality that had followed.

Alex had shifted between cold, angry, furious, and panicked so quickly that Nico had a hard time keeping up. He spat out accusations, before falling so blank that he looked almost like he had retreated. And then, he sprung back to life, spitting out more accusations, spitting out more words that made little sense to _anyone_ in the room—except for the speaker.

The second time his gaze had faded out, Nico caught it for what it was. _Flashbacks_. Whatever he was seeing clearly wasn't in the room anymore, but he snapped back almost immediately. Flying from his sitting position, gesturing wildly as he yelled at them… Nico doubted that Alex had even known what he was saying anymore. He certainly wouldn't have let them in on the fact that he was having memory issues. He had dazed out again after that, but that time, when he came out of it, he had thrown the mug in his hands at them.

They had all jumped out of the way of the flying projectile, as if it were some sort of bomb. Nico had tracked Alex's movements though—who had looked both terrified and horrified—but not about the mug. He had all but fled out of the kitchen, slamming his door loud enough that there was no doubt about where he had gone.

Liquid dripped off the wall, where the mug had first hit—milk?—leaving a puddle amongst the broken fragments. Such damage promised to be only the beginning if Alex continued in the same trend. Dealing with the damage imposed by the captivity.

And Nico had known it would come. Had known it himself, during their last few hours of contact, before they had been separated by the hospitals. He had known that Alex would reach an eventual breaking point; that he would boil over. Alex would be fine at putting up a front, at pretending that nothing was wrong, but the melt down was guaranteed. No one could put up with so much for so long.

It wasn't natural.

It wasn't supposed to work in that manner.

Added to the fact that he seemed to remember little of their captivity… meant that either he was unconsciously repressing the memories, or there was something else that had gone on. Psychological torture, instead of just physical.

"Those were flashbacks." Mickey broke the silence, putting into words what they had all seen too clearly. "You think that's why they wanted to set the counseling back up? So he can deal with it?"

Nico shook his head slowly, still gazing toward the empty door frame and broken mug. It didn't fit Alex's personality. "I don't think he _deals_ with it." The vehemence, anger, and panic blended together made Nico wonder just what they were missing in the back-story of Alex. What key piece of information were they missing? "And I'm assuming that convincing him to go to counseling is going to be an uphill battle."

"That wasn't in the file," Jacobs commented. "No mention of anger issues, or post-traumatic stress… Any of that." _How much else had been left out of that incomplete file?_ "Though, I suppose it should be expected. Those were a series of traumatic events."

"He made it clear here that there's something more going on." Cameron made a vague gesture to the entire room, lips pressing into a thin line. "Something that MI has kept from us—and I'm guessing that it is rather important."

Jacobs shrugged. "As well, not knowing, but knowing something happened… that can really mess with a mind. If he is trying to reconcile what he knows and doesn't know… I wouldn't be surprised if he was just suspicious of everything that happened then." He gestured to Nico. "Your actions, his actions, whatever bits and pieces he remembers…"

Nico nodded slowly. If Alex didn't know or didn't remember details, then it was possible that MI didn't know, and literally _any_ organization could be gunning for Alex. There was the possibility that Alex knew more than he was letting on, but… stirring him up into a rage in the hopes that he would let something slip was not the answer.

Nico couldn't help but wonder though… how would it have turned out differently? Such a seemingly small deviation from the truth, with numerous reasons why Nico had never given his true identity, had been enough to plant the seed of betrayal. "Was not telling him the right choice?"

Jacobs hardly gave him the chance to finish his sentence. "You followed your training. And it likely saved your life. Possibly his life as well."

Cameron nodded in agreement. "There was more to that outburst than you failing to tell him your identity. Likely, some subconscious part of him realizes that as well. Your actions were training dictated. You gave him a plausible name, without revealing your rank or position to the enemy. They were unaware of your status, just as much as he was."

Yes, he had done all that he was trained to do. And he had _hated_ it. _Hated_ not being able to help more. _Hated_ being relegated to doing nothing but watch as they stripped piece after piece of the teen's defenses. He had told Alex as much. Had tried his best. Yet… it seemed that lost memories would continue to plague any hope of explanation.

Nico wasn't sure what he could do about it. There probably _was_ nothing he could do about it. Except wait it out. Waiting was _not_ something that the SAS did very well…

* * *

He was shouted away from the room when he went to tell Alex that they were eating lunch. It was clear that he had calmed down some, but that he still wasn't in the mood for being around anyone. The sound of something hitting the wall with a soft thump had led to _that_ conclusion. However, the door hadn't been locked, so Nico took it as a good sign.

The hours in the afternoon had been suspiciously quiet, with only the occasional noise. The pressure sensors that had been placed around the windows and perimeter of the house hadn't gone off, so he wasn't too worried. If they could avoid an outburst like that again, it might be smooth sailing.

And it _was_ confusing that Alex wasn't overly hostile toward him all the time. It had only happened when the guardian subject had been brought up. Only when something someone had said or implied had triggered him.

When it was time for dinner, he went to Alex's room once again and hoped that he wouldn't be rebuffed. Skipping meals was not going to be tolerated.

_I already sound like a parent_ …

Nico shook his head firmly and decided to keep those thoughts to himself. Lest the others in his unit start ribbing him. And they would. Anything to break the monotony of the everyday…

He rapped on the door, noting that it was still unlocked, before calling out. "It's time to eat dinner."

There was no sound from within the room, but Nico waited a couple more seconds. He rapped once again and, halfway through, the door opened. Nico raised an eyebrow at the clearly sleep-mused Alex, but stepped to the side to let him through.

Alex seemed to be once again hiding his braced arm within his sweatshirt, and Nico supposed that he had been around too many people that liked to stare. It was a strange injury, to be sure, and it drew attention. Even as he was sitting down at the table, his left arm stayed tucked away, as if it were not even a part of his body.

That probably took weeks of habit. Of course, he had _had_ weeks to gain the habit. He would be closing in on close to eleven weeks without being able to use it. According to the files, he was _just_ starting to do physical therapy. It would take weeks before he would be able to use it in everyday activities, much less have a normal amount of grip and coordination. If that was even possible…

Alex gave them all a suspicious glare, before poking at the meal in front of him. Although Cameron was the best cook out of the bunch—he knew better than to burn a pan of water, like Mickey did—there was no making up for a distinct lack of groceries. Until they had a chance to get out to a store, their food choices were limited between instant past and sandwiches. Since they had had sandwiches for lunch… it was on to instant pasta.

Nico didn't blame Alex's completely disinterested look at the food, but knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. _Real food_ was real food. Conversation about insignificant things flew around the table—the latest tabloids, complaints about the new sergeant at the base, the superiority of the beds in the house compare to other assignments—anything that didn't touch on what had occurred that morning. Nico spent most of the meal surreptitiously studying his new charge.

The masks were back, that was the most obvious, and it didn't look like they would crack again anytime soon. Instead, Alex seemed both withdrawn into his own world, as well as watching warily for any sort of attack. A strange position for someone who was just barely sixteen.

"Do you need anything from a store?" The question cut into both Nico's studying and Alex's withdrawal.

Alex blinked, realizing the question was directed toward him. "What?"

"Do you need anything from a store?" Cameron repeated the question, looking unimpressed that he hadn't been heard the first time. "I mean, you came with just a backpack, so you can't have that much with you. Is there anything you _need_?"

A pensive expression crossed Alex's face. "Why?"

Cameron squinted at Alex. "What? Why, what?"

"Why would I need something?" The question was asked with such sincerity that Nico was _sure_ that Alex was having them on. He was toying with them. But there was something different in his expression from earlier. When earlier he had been purposefully being sarcastic, it had been to cover up something else. Now though… he truly didn't understand the concept.

"Well—"

Nico kicked Cameron before he said something he might regret and received a baleful glare from his captain. He ignored it and turned to Alex. "Do you have all the essentials you need? Clothes, books, etcetera. You _do_ have an allowance here."

"Yes."

Nico raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you have everything? Or yes, you need things?"

Alex's gaze dropped back to his half-empty plate of food, an almost sheepish expression crossing his face. "Yes, I need things."

"Great. We'll plan to go to a nearby town in two days then." Cameron said, once again taking over the conversation. "Er… you're conversational in Spanish, right?

Alex shrugged, still not making eye contact. "I can get by."

Nico raised an eyebrow at the seeming downplay of his conversational abilities, but didn't say anything.

Cameron just nodded to himself. "You'll go with Nico then. Neither of you should stand out among the locals. Keep low and don't attract attention, and we should be fine."

Nico stared at his captain wondering if he had suddenly forgotten everything that had happened that morning. If anything, he should be the _last_ person to go out alone with Alex. It was obvious that Alex trusted him the _least_.

Alex didn't react though, just shrugged his shoulders. _Almost as if everything that morning hadn't even happened._

Cameron just bulldozed on. "We should be able to get into one of the neighboring cities, without having to worry about breaking cover. Just keep your eyes open while you're out."

Alex bobbed his head, but it was clear his attention was gone. Any interest he had had in the conversation previously had disappeared, and it was with little surprise to Nico that after a few more minutes, he dumped the rest of his uneaten food into the garbage and disappeared to his room. The door shut with a click, leaving little imagination about what the likelihood of him coming back out would be. Probably not at all.

"You know anything about his Spanish, Nico?"

Nico recognized the command in the question. It wasn't an option to hold _anything_ back that could potentially help their cause. "Only the little I heard when we were first thrown together. Which, to be honest, was rather good. He was drugged the first time and he managed to hold a coherent conversation with me, switching between English and Spanish easily. After that, we only talked a handful of times in Spanish, but he didn't make any glaring mistakes." He hadn't made _any_ mistakes that Nico remembered, even though the few times he had slid into Spanish had been when Alex was at his worst and seemed to have forgotten where he was. _I can get by_ , was a drastic underestimation of his abilities.

"Perhaps that's why they sent him here then. He'll be able to blend in with the locals easier."

Nico shrugged, but personally had a sinking suspicion that, just as Alex had shouted at them earlier, someone was pulling strings. Someone had assumed that their shared circumstances would give them a stable foundation. It seemed that they had forgotten to take in Alex's capabilities for holding a grudge into account. As well as just _what_ he might try to keep a grudge about.

"Let's get this trip figured out then." Cameron brought Nico's thoughts back into line. "MI is going to want to look it over before they approve anything, so if we want to get out in the next two days and eat something other than _instant meals_ , I suggest we get it done sooner rather than later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being late. Real life is a bit of a mess right now. I hope you are all staying safe in the midst of all this.


	16. Low Profile

Alex was surprised that no one had brought up the guardianship subject.

Surely _someone_ must've been assigned by now. He felt as if they were all dancing around it, pretending that it wasn't there. It was almost worse than the previous guardianship placements though, merely because he _wasn't sure_ what to expect. There were no laid out rules, no directions as to what he was supposed to do all day… no expectations. In some ways, he missed the school, if only because it gave him something to do. It gave him structure.

He was quickly running out of things to do to keep busy. A laptop had arrived for him the day before, but since it seemed that an internet connect would be too _insecure_ , there wasn't a whole lot for him to do. Sure, there were always papers to be written, but seeing how he was still typing one handed… it was a slow and torturous process. Even conjugating verbs could only go on for so long before he felt like he had crammed everything into his brain. He was just as likely to forget it all by the time he got around to actually writing any exams, so…

He had no interesting books—school books didn't count—no access to the internet, and he was quickly going crazy within his own mind. What did people even do when they _relaxed_?

It didn't help that his sleep was fitful and interrupted. The first night had been an anomaly. The niggling unease of being in a house wasn't leaving him—though he remembered little of _that_ day, the fire was quite vivid in his few memories—and he never quite reached that point of relaxation where he could slip into a deeper sleep. But then, it had been eons since he had been able to sleep deeply.

It was odd when he had so many traumatic events in the past several months that his brain didn't know _which_ one to focus on.

"Vamos, Alex." _Let's go_. Nico called Alex back to the present, signaling that they had reached their destination.

He wasn't sure what kinds of arrangements had been made so that they could go to town, but it obviously hadn't been simple. They were over two hours away from their safe house, in the midst of a relatively decent sized city, playing the part of awed tourists.

On the way over, Nico and Cameron had drilled the cover story into him. He and Nico were cousins, he was visiting Nico and his luggage had gotten lost. As they had already made arrangements for the next couple of weeks, they couldn't wait around for the luggage to show—therefore the necessity to buy a whole new wardrobe. Of course, these details were only supposed to come out if someone asked them questions. Since they both spoke Spanish rather fluently, there was hope that no one would even bother to give them a second glance.

Cameron and the weedy one, finally identified as _Mickey_ , were going to a different section of the city to pick up supplies for the safe house. Alex's only request had been for some decent tea. The other one, Jacobs, had stayed behind at the safe house, keeping it _secure_.

Nico stuck close beside him, not quite guiding him down the street, but it was a near thing. " _If we get the clothes first,_ " he murmured in Spanish, _"We should have enough time to stop at the bookstore, if you want."_

Alex nodded. Apart from getting at least another change or two of clothes, he wanted books. He needed something to do during all the copious amounts of free time, and the least he could do was do something semi-productive. _Read_ or something…

He tucked his braced arm into his sweatshirt, as usual, and followed Nico down the streets. Seeing how they had just split off from the others, he assumed that they would have at least an hour or two. It seemed such a waste to take so long to get into the city, just to only grab a couple of things…

He pulled his standard teenager expression out—the one that didn't look like someone had sucked his soul out or that he wanted everyone to burn to dust—and pretended with all his might that this was just a normal outing. Something he had done hundreds of times before with— He stopped his thoughts there and started following Nico so closely that he was practically stepping on his heels. However much he was wary of the man in front of him, he at least carried a weapon or two with him and knew how to use it. _Jones still refused to give_ him _weapons_. In a strange city, filled with the hustle and bustle of strangers, there was no knowing where the next hint of danger might come from, and this SAS man was the only protection he had.

 _They had caught him too though…_ And if that wasn't unsettling, Alex wasn't sure what was.

Nico seemed to know exactly where they were going, because he didn't even bother to stop and look at the street signs. He only glanced back once or twice to make sure that Alex was still following him, and had _tried_ to give him a reassuring smile. Or, at least, what Alex assumed was supposed to be reassuring. Nico led the way right into one of the shops that seemed to have everything as far as clothing was concerned.

" _Find what you want_." Nico cast a glance around the shop, before shrugging. " _We have an unlimited budget_."

Alex rolled his eyes at that, but set off to find the clothes he needed. Another sweatshirt would probably be a good idea.

* * *

All in all, he considered the shopping trip a success. They had all but flown through the clothes—neither of them particularly liked that part of shopping—only grabbing the necessaries, without really looking at things like style. He also had two more sweatshirts, both of which would fit over his brace easily.

From there, they had gone to the bookstore, where Alex could have easily spent hours and hours—mainly because it was nearly empty and he didn't have the persistent twitch to look over his shoulder every couple of seconds. But it was also quite large and had a good selection of books on many different subjects. He grabbed books in a variety of subjects—science, Spanish history, a literature book that he knew he needed to read for his coursework, and a couple of grammar books for Swedish and Arabic—with the plan that these books would keep him occupied until someone tried to figure out his schooling situation.

Nico had given him a couple of strange looks about the grammar books, but Alex had just shrugged him off, not bothering to try to give an explanation. Soon enough, they brought their purchases to the register, paid, and went to find the rest of the group.

Mickey was already waiting for them, but Cameron had disappeared off to somewhere else. Nico took over the driving and Mickey – having been delegated to backseat duty – picked through Alex's stack of books with a critical eye. He nodded slightly at the literature book, before glancing between Alex and the current Swedish grammar book he had in his hands. "So, are you just _really_ bored and think you can teach yourself a language, or do you already know a little?"

Alex just shrugged, continuing with his reading.

"I mean, clearly you've gotten Spanish down pretty well. But… Swedish? Ever been there?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

Alex rolled his eyes, but continued reading his book.

"So… if you know some Swedish, how much do you know? Like, could you get by in the country?"

Nico snorted from the front. " _You_ could get by in Sweden. Pretty much everyone speaks English." He glanced at Alex through the rear-view mirror. "Do you like languages, then?"

Alex shrugged. "I know some phrases and vocabulary. I can't keep up a conversation in it." _Unless it's a conversation of swearing…_ It didn't answer Nico's question, but…

Any further conversation was cut off by them arriving outside a small eatery. Alex couldn't quiet the small growl his stomach made at the sight of Cameron with a bag full of lunch snacks. It had been quite a few hours since breakfast…

Cameron climbed into the front passenger seat and waved a manila folder. "This is the latest from MI. More paperwork and information, supposedly on the threat." He glanced back at Alex and Alex made sure to bury his head in his book.

Really though, he was calculating on just how to get the new information from them without their knowing… MI6 was purposefully keeping information from him and he didn't like that. _Someone_ had wanted information… but trying to _remember_ what information they wanted just made his head hurt.

"Alex, they've scheduled you for PT in just over a week. And there's a USB with information on your correspondence classes that we'll pick up the next week."

He jerked his head in acknowledgement of the arrangements. That gave him just a little over a week to figure out his plan. Shouldn't be too hard…

* * *

Choking.

Burning.

Tearing at his throat.

The sensation was unmistakable yet so unfamiliar at the same time.

Coppery.

Metallic.

Overpowering.

The taste spread through his entire being, seeming to take up space until he could only think of _it_. He tried to escape but every movement brought him closer. Made it worse.

Slippery.

Wet.

It filled his senses. Coated his skin in a way that he couldn't remove himself from. There was nothing but _it._ Scrubbing only made it worse, clinging to him in a mocking embrace. It was impossible to remove when the only thing to clean with was the same substance.

"Taste of your own medicine." The voice taunted him, the mimicry of his own image. He slid and slipped in the substance, trying to get away, but the chasms of blackness and red refused to part. "You're filthy, Alex."

He shuddered, scraping at his skin, ignoring the pain as he only succeeded in adding to the wetness. Only added more of _it._ It wouldn't come off. He had tried so many times. So many times, and there was no change.

Nothing but blood.

Everywhere.

Coating every surface.

Glistening red.

_Blood._

It wasn't only on his skin though. It was dripping down his throat. Falling from his eyes as a laugh at the tears that were also falling. Churning within his gut. Making him sick.

Everywhere. Coating every pore inside and out.

He gagged and the apparition only came closer. He couldn't _see_ it, but he could feel it. Feel the steady presence filled nothing but hatred and disdain.

"You've spilled so much, _Alex_. Only seems fair that you drink it now."

Ghosts of hands crossed his skin and he tore at his arms again, trying to permanently remove the sensation. It only served in hurting himself—but he wondered if that was really such a bad thing… after all, a little pain was nothing compared to this suffering.

He deserved it.

"You don't realize… do you?" Suddenly there was laughter all around him and struggled to pinpoint the direction. It wasn't up or down. Nowhere. Everywhere. Then hands were around his throat, slowly cutting off the air, slippery against the blood coating his skin. "Perhaps we should just put you out of your misery. You'd be happier, no?"

He scrabbled against the sensation, but only succeeded in tearing at his own throat. There was nothing to physically grasp. Nothing to pull against. Nothing to remove.

_"Rider, Rider, Rider. What are we to do with you?" Hands were pressing at his temple, in a mocking gesture of care._

_He could barely tell the sensation apart from the pain though. He was barely able to take a breath. Ribs were broken, for sure._

_"You keep fighting us tooth and nail. But you know what we want, don't you…? You know how to get it." A finger pressed on a bruise, hard enough that it intensified the pounding in his head. His thoughts were jumbled, disorganized. "But we're going to stop playing nice. I have a friend… he may not make you sing like a bird, but you'll be so messed up that you won't the difference between right and wrong." The hand took up a grip around his throat, and he wanted to pull them away, but they had already tied his hands tightly to the chair._

_When was that…? Hours ago?_

_"Perhaps… perhaps you won't even remember any of this. You'll betray your lovely country… and you won't even remember."_

_He was still choking. Still scrabbling at the hands around his throat. Still downing in the blood that covered him._

_"You're going to die."_

"Alex…?"

_"They won't be able to do anything about it. You're useless."_

Someone grabbed his shoulder. "Breathe."

_What kind of advice was that…? They were choking him. He couldn't breathe…_

_"Silly, silly little Alex. The one who killed all his family and friends, and betrayed his country."_

"Wake up, Alex!"

Alex woke up.

* * *

He gasped for air, finding it difficult to breathe, feeling pain in his throat and arms. He was shaking, and that was the only warning before he felt something coming up his throat. He burst out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, where he promptly threw up his supper from the last evening and collapsed into a shaking, almost sobbing heap beside the toilet.

The images were still flying around in his head. Unavoidable. Mangled bodies. A voice that taunted him.

He retched again, but nothing but bile came up this time. It burned at his throat, adding even more credence to the _dream_ that had invaded his sleep. He was shaking all the way down to the core. His heart was racing and breathing short—adrenaline had flooded his system and now it was ebbing away, leaving behind an intense feeling of emptiness.

He wanted to sob in frustration, but couldn't. He settled for grabbing his hair and taking in shaky gasps. Air came now, but it felt strange. _He_ felt strange.

There had been something terrifyingly realistic about the nightmare. It wasn't the same as the other ones that he had convinced himself were not real. There had been pieces… pieces that seemed like memories, but were slipping away before he could fully remember.

_Just like always._

He gripped even tighter on his hair, as if it would make the memories come back. The terror of the dream was hardly fading, but the _realness_ of portions was going away. Slipping away and leaving him with the feeling that something important was going as well.

That the _key_ to everything was just out of reach.

A hand touched his shoulder and he couldn't help the immediate reaction. He lashed out with his feet, taking them out at the ankle, before curling in further on himself. Someone swore loudly as they were knocked off balance, but they didn't fall—just slammed into the wall.

"Damn it! Alex! No need to kick!" The annoyed voice was unmistakable and loud, and Alex curled up even further, trying to calm to the rolling in his stomach. Couldn't they see he just wanted to be left alone? "Come on, none of that."

They flicked the light on and Alex buried his head in his arms, trying to block out the sudden overload of sensation, but hissed in pain as his arm came into contact with his body. He pulled away, slitting his eyes open just enough to see the long red trails that crossed up and down his arm. He retched again, barely making it in time, as the sight seemed to be the signal for the sudden onslaught of memories from the nightmare.

_Blood._

_Everywhere._

_Arms covered._

_Pain._

"Hey, hey, whoa…" This time, when the hand touched his back, he didn't flinch away, but that might have been more because he was too busy to do anything else. "Calm down and breathe. Okay? You're fine."

Alex dropped back to the floor again, but this time eying the shower with a longing glance. He _wanted_ to wash everything away, but knew better. The shower wouldn't make everything better as it had _before_. Now it only compounded on his problems. It made things intolerable.

But he had to… had to… had to get rid of the _blood_.

His eyes blinked heavily, as his mind tried to process what his options were. He couldn't stand to look down—even though logically he _knew_ that the scratches were mostly superficial. There really wasn't _that much_ blood involved.

The someone crouched down next to him, with a damp washcloth, and held it out to him. "You're fine, okay? Superficial, nothing bad."

Alex blinked at them, before placing a name with the familiar voice. _Mickey_. He took the washcloth, still shaking and feeling miserable, before rubbing at his arms in an almost savage motion. The pain was immediate, but nothing compared to what he had endured _before_. He had to get it all off. All the _blood_ had to be gone. Gone.

The washcloth was plucked from his grasp before he got very far and only a quick-thinking hand kept him from tearing at his arm instead. "Cool it, Alex. Breathe and calm down." Mickey kept his one hand trapped, before dabbing at the scratches. "It's okay now. Don't need to tear yourself up more."

Alex clenched his teeth and closed his eyes.

_No more. Please, no more._

"There. Not so bad."

He stopped with his ministrations and Alex glanced down and couldn't help but notice that it was much better. It didn't look so bad… The brace on his hand and wrist had prevented more self-inflicted injuries… Self-consciously, he drew his hand back to his chest, still wanting to hide the evidence of the brace. Then, he pressed his cheek to the floor and waited for the shaking to calm down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No…" It came out more as a rasp than anything else, and Alex wondered if he had been screaming as much as he had been in his dream. Nightmare. _Whatever_.

Thankfully, Mickey seemed to get the hint that he wasn't going to talk and backed off. He wasn't sure how long he lied on the floor, trying to calm his rolling stomach, trying to bring his thoughts back into order, but it was a long time. He felt like he couldn't breathe at moments, but the panic always passed after a few moments. The memories of the nightmare were slipping away, like water down a drain, except for the sure reality that _everything_ had been covered in blood.

Eventually, when he felt like he could move without risking the upset of his stomach again, he pushed himself upright, taking care of his still braced arm. He didn't dare look in the mirror, and just pushed past Mickey to his room.

He wasn't in the state to deal with anyone else.

He shut his door, hoping that the message would get across, but didn't bother locking it. It wouldn't do any good—they would just pick the lock if they really needed to get in, and if they had a legitimate reason, he didn't want to have to get up and unlock it…

Then, he collapsed onto his bed, cradling his arms to his chest, and tried to think about absolutely nothing at all.


	17. Observation

"And that's all there was to it. He wouldn't meet my eyes, wouldn't say anything… It's almost like he had checked out." Mickey nodded toward the living room where Alex had absconded for the morning. "He's more with it now, but…"

Nico frowned. Not good news, but could be worse, all things considered. It was nearing two weeks since the arrangement had started, and everyone had been waiting for the other shoe to drop. It seemed that that moment had come.

When Alex had all but dragged himself out for breakfast, it had been clear that _something_ had happened. Mickey had stopped him before he could ask, but signaled that he had information. So, Nico had waited. Even odder had been Alex's apparent choice to take over the living room for the morning, instead of hiding away in his bedroom. Definitely out of character for the so far reclusive teen.

Even with those warning signs that something wasn't right, Nico hadn't been expecting to hear about the violent nightmare and the _self-injurious_ behavior afterward. Nausea would explain the apparent lack of appetite, but none of the listlessness that had seemed to overcome him. Nico wondered just what had happened in the nightmare, but had a feeling that he really didn't want to know. It was quite likely that whatever horrors Alex held in his psyche – bad enough that he would attack his own body – were far too much for one his age to have to handle.

"Were the scratches deep?"

Mickey shook his head. "Not really. Enough that it was bloody and the blood seemed to be what set him off, but once I got it cleaned up it had already clotted over. The brace he has… I think it kept it from being worse than it could have."

There really wasn't much that they could do. Nico had seen the signs of PTSD from the moment they had been rescued from their kidnappers. He had seen the flashbacks and the pretend ignorance in the past several weeks. Though there hadn't been any spectacular blowups since the initial one, Nico had watched Alex stumble through more than one flashback that left him panicky and retreating to his room. Who knew how many they _didn't_ see, while he was shut off from the rest of them.

There wasn't much they could do though. Nico knew what worked for himself, but… deal with this just wasn't a part of their training.

"Do you think the self-harm is something we need to watch out for?"

Nico _knew_ what Mickey was really asking. Had military intelligence unwittingly – or perhaps wittingly – set them up for some kind of suicide watch? "I don't think so." It didn't fit with what little they knew. And Nico knew that Alex had had nightmares right at the beginning of their time in captivity. "I think the issue last night was with whatever was in his nightmare." _Or flashback…_ "We'll just have to keep an eye out. If it becomes a pattern, then… then we'll do something."

"Fill in the others then?"

Nico nodded. "Yeah, let Cameron and Jacobs know. Don't make it obvious though. Alex has an appointment soon, anyway. And maybe once Cameron gets back with the latest information drop, we'll have something more to work off of."

He really wasn't holding out much hope for new information, but then, it was entirely possible that whatever information they got meant _something_ to Alex. Cameron _had_ noticed the USB from the last information packet that had gone missing and then mysteriously showed up again a day later. The only suspect was Alex. Nico suspected it had something to do with the fact that Alex didn't like being left in the dark and knew things he probably wasn't supposed to. He had likely done it before he had ever come to Spain and wasn't likely to stop anytime soon.

Cameron was just peeved that Alex had swiped it so easily and without so much as a trace.

They had mentioned it in their latest report, no matter how humiliating it was to admit that a teenager had managed to swipe information from them. However, none of the previous reports had suggested _not_ allowing Alex access to the information, so… for now they weren't too worried.

Nico let his gaze drift toward the living room, and found his feet taking him to the doorway. After hearing about Alex's night, he wasn't exactly surprised to find the teenager crashed on the sofa, Swedish dictionary and random papers splayed out across the floor and his chest. He looked almost normal, sleeping peacefully. Only the dark circles under his eyes belayed the stress he was under—after all, this was the sixth or seventh move in the past several months, with no settling down.

He retreated into kitchen when he heard his watch signaling the changing of shifts—his turn on surveillance. He resolved to put the matter of Alex's nightmares and snooping out of his mind for the time being. He would have plenty of time to mull over it later.

It wouldn't do any harm to let the teen continuing sleeping, especially when it seemed that even the nighttime was out to get him.

* * *

Cameron knocked and entered what they had dubbed the surveillance room, disrupting Nico's in-depth pursual of the local newspaper. Apart from keeping up on local news and events, it also provided an important look at any unusual happenings in the immediate region surrounding their new home base. So far, nothing had popped up, but they weren't taking their chances. The rest of the room was filled with sensor readings and monitors for triggers planted around the edges of the property.

"Heard the kid had a nightmare," Cameron said as he placed the newest packet down on the desk. "Mickey said something about watching out for injuries."

Nico nodded. "Related to the nightmare. Outside of that, I don't think it's a problem. I think we might see an increase in daytime sleeping though."

Cameron shrugged. "Well, as long as that doesn't mean an increase in nighttime shenanigans…"

"Any new news?"

"Got the USB that's supposed to have his schooling on it, and another USB with information on the threat status." His lips set into a slight frown. "Also, our contact mentioned that it was surprising that Alex had waited a _week_ before he started snooping and that any information could be shared freely in the hopes of, and I quote, ' _jogging his memory_.'"

Nico snorted. "Or we could just keep what we're doing and let him _snoop_ and feel like he's doing something rebellious." With the previous reports of Alex's less than stellar cooperation, Nico liked to think that they were doing pretty well so far. Of course, there was nothing saying that things couldn't change in a matter of moments, but for now it seemed that letting him snoop was the best approach.

Cameron grinned. "I like the way you think. Now, we've got his schooling and I'd like to take a look first."

"You think there's something more on here than just correspondence work?"

"Call it a hunch." He pulled the USB out and tossed it at Nico. "And a little insurance that MI isn't going to try to pull as fast one with us. This assignment is already weird enough."

Nico plugged it in to the waiting laptop and pulled up the applicable drive. At initial glance, the list of files appeared to be normal. Folders for science, mathematics, Spanish and government seemed to match with what they knew of Alex's course schedule. For a kid who hadn't even completed their GCSE's, he certainly got into a lot of trouble.

Cameron leaned over, looking through the list, before pointing to a folder at the top. "He didn't have design and technology on his previous course list."

Nico clicked it and a dialogue box popped up asking for a password. After clicking out of it, he confirmed that all the other folders appeared to open with no difficulty. Just the design and technology folder… "I guess that answers that question." MI was hiding something from them and giving Alex the only access. What… he had no idea.

Cameron sighed, before slumping down in the chair. "Guess it does. What's the likelihood he'll tell us?"

"Slim to none."

"That's what I was afraid of." Cameron rubbed at his forehead. "I guess then, we just have to hope that MI isn't undermining us and if it's truly important he'll let us know."

Nico personally thought that Alex telling them was unlikely at this point, but then it hadn't even been two weeks yet. Aside from the blow-up that first day, Alex had been all but mellow toward them. Whether that was a good or bad sign was anyone's guess. "I guess then, what did they give us?"

The second USB held no top-secret password locked files. If anything, the information appeared less than stellar. Still no concrete information of just _who_ they were protecting from. Just vague information that suggested it was an international threat that even MI6 hadn't gotten their hands on. _Someone_ had kidnapped Alex and Nico. _Someone_ had drugged Alex. But _who_ …?

Cameron tapped the screen, pointing out a set of words. " _Harcourt dead._ Who is Harcourt?"

"I'm… not sure. But the name sound familiar." Nico picked up the last of the papers they had from the original briefing. Everything over the past several days had been in electronic copy, but he felt that that name had been mentioned in one of the physical papers. He skimmed through the vague briefing they had been given, before the name jumped out at him. "That was his last guardian."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. "The one that they thought was drugging him?"

"That's the one."

And it wasn't a good sign either. It meant that whoever was after Alex, likely knew that MI6 was onto them. And it was quite probable that MI6 hadn't managed to get much out of Harcourt, given that anything they said would only go further to paint them as a traitor to the government. It suggested that whoever was targeting Alex was trying their best to cinch down whatever loose ends they had – and that included Alex.

* * *

The reality was that this assignment was not the most exciting.

Usually when guarding witnesses – something that in Nico's experience the SAS did very infrequently – there were active threats to protect from. So far, this was basically just playing house. All they had to do was make sure one of them showed up to the appropriate drop point and everything else was already taken care of.

The only adventure so far was the shopping trip and even that had been all over uneventful.

Although Alex's nightmares were likely to add a bit of spice to their in-house activities, the reality was that they were SAS. They were used to high adrenaline risk – whether in training, on base with the commander, or out in the field actively tracking _something_ down. This assignment so far had had so little adrenaline that they were starting to go stir-crazy – even after just a week.

There were only so many times they could do pushups and crunches in the yard before their neighbors became suspicious – despite the fence surrounding them. It was probably already suspicious having so many strange people suddenly moving into the neighborhood. Although in some ways the neighborhood was eerily quiet… as Nico had yet to see more than a handful of people.

Sure, they each had their own "coursework" to get done, training to be completed. Jacobs was completing coursework in field medicine and Mickey was making sure that their arms and supplies were up to snuff. But even that would only last for so long. The high amounts of physical exercise they were used to getting was going by the wayside and if things didn't change, they were going to get back to base far more out of shape than should be possible.

_If they ever got back to base…_

A knock on the door startled Nico out of his musing and he looked up to see Alex standing in the doorway. Alex looked marginally better than he had that morning, but he was still withdrawn. It was surprising that he had actively sought Nico out…

"Cameron said you had an update for my schooling?" He was studiously not making eye contact with Nico, but at least it seemed like a step in the right direction.

Nico grabbed the USB and tossed it toward him, not thinking until he saw Alex fumble to grab it with one hand. His left was still out of commission. _Right_ … "They should have new assignments on there. If you've got assignments ready to turn in, we'll send it out with the next batch."

Alex nodded, looking pensive.

Maybe it was time to offer an olive branch. "We'll be going out in a couple of days for your PT." Although MI6 had scheduled his physical therapy nearly a week earlier, they hadn't gotten the final instructions until the latest information drop. It was yet to be determined if MI6 thought that that was a good place to spring counseling on him as well. "You've been keeping up with the exercises?"

Alex's face pinched for a moment, muscles tightening in clear annoyance. Obviously, he wasn't _okay_ with Nico, but it was better than when he had blown up. "Yes." Alex glanced at him warily, taking a step back from the doorway. "I've got… I've got assignments to do…" He all but fled the room.

Nico sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. Better than outright hate, but… he didn't know what he had done to deserve _all_ of Alex's scorn…


	18. Inhale, Exhale

So far, nothing was quite as it seemed. He hadn't intended to fall asleep on the couch, but… it had happened. And he honestly felt a little bit better for it. More clearheaded. Of course, there was still that niggling feeling that he was forgetting something important, that there was _something_ in his nightmares and dreams that held the key to… _everything_.

Oddly, when Cameron had told him that Nico had his schooling, there had been a slight feeling of unease, but that was it. Once again, the sensation that he was forgetting something, but he couldn't put a finger on what. The reminder of his upcoming PT appointment and Nico prying into whether he was doing his exercises or not was enough to get him out of there, but it also served as a reminder that no one had stepped up as the _guardian_. He thought it unimaginable that MI6 _hadn't_ turned it over to one of them, but also found it hard to imagine that none of them were complaining about being the guardian to a sixteen-year-old _boy_. He couldn't imagine that they were all more decent human beings than the agents in the UK…

More gaps that needed to be filled in.

It had been 10 days already. Longer than he had lasted at some of the previous placements, but perhaps that was more due to the quarantine like conditions he was under. There wasn't even going out to school to break up the monotony – or provide opportunities to get out from under the unit's watchful eye. Everywhere he went, there was someone else in the house.

He would make a break for it eventually, but it would definitely take more planning time.

And he needed to get his hands on the latest briefing. MI6 was being notoriously stingy in their information giving, but even the little clues were better than being kept completely in the dark.

Alex pulled out the USB Nico had given him and slid it into his laptop. Maybe he would have a chance to pull up his grades again and actually get good scores on exams.

_Provided he ever had a chance to take the exams._

He felt like he was floating in some strange reality, where he was suddenly provided with all this free time and very little direction. Almost like it was possible that he could have a life outside of his trauma. Of course, his nightmares and niggling sense of _forgetting something important_ kept that from being a reality, but… maybe? Maybe Jones' push for his education wasn't so farfetched.

He opened the maths folder and found a series of video lectures that corresponded to the e-textbook they had sent him days earlier. So, at least he had that. It seemed that Jones was just starting over from the beginning, which honestly… He had missed so much school in the past five months that starting over was probably the only way he had a hope of passing his exams. Maybe he could get his brain to focus long enough to actually retain some of the information.

There were similar folders for his other classes, but an addition caught his attention. _Design and technology_.

He may have been inconsistent with his schooling, but Alex _knew_ he wasn't planning on sitting an exam for D&T. Which meant… that there was some other information there. But… why?

He clicked on the folder and was immediately met with a password screen. _Password?_ The cursor blinked at him, but he honestly had no idea what to input. What could Jones – or one of the others – have chosen as a password?

_His birthday?_

Nope.

_The current date?_

No.

_His name?_

The error dialogue mocked him. Alex slammed a hand down on the desk, annoyed and angry. There was little use in MI6 giving him something _extra_ if they didn't make sure that he had access to it. He scowled at it, but knew that it was no use. For all he knew, it could be as long as fifty characters or a short at three.

He simply… didn't know.

Alex sighed, trying to get the irrational anger under control again. Perhaps that was better than the apathy he had felt all day, but… He might as well get some work done. He had little intention of sleeping, so he knew he might as well put the time to good use.

* * *

It was back to the staring game.

The clock on the wall here wasn't nearly as interesting as the last place. There were no creative numberings or doohickeys that screamed _children's office_ , nor were there any plaques with diplomas or degrees that showed off the owner's intellect. Just blank walls with a single clock. Of course, part of that might have been influenced by the fact that this was just a small office shoved into some forgotten corner of a large building.

The other man's eyebrow twitched slightly, and Alex did his best not to smirk. Really, this was the only enjoyment he got out of such tortures. Waiting to see how long it took the other person to break.

When Nico and company had dragged him out of the house early that morning, he had really been too exhausted to do much protesting. The nightmare several days previous had put him off of sleeping for a while – though he knew even that couldn't be held up for too long. As it was, he had gotten by with catching naps on the couch in the living room – a location his brain had deemed as _safe_ – and powering through as much course work as possible at night.

He had only taken a short break to swipe the latest USB of information the unit had received in their briefing, but hadn't had a chance to pursue the information.

All said and done, day three he was starting to reach the end of his rope with exhaustion. Something was going to have to give eventually. As it was, he hadn't had the energy to really care about where the soldiers were taking him. _They_ didn't know he had been up all night – he had been very careful about light sources and cracks of bedroom doors – but he certainly wasn't functioning at a hundred percent.

When they had pulled up to the building, it had seemed like a rather innocuous outing – Nico had said that MI6 was arranging physical therapy, with the possibility of becoming a weekly outing. Of course, patterns were predictable, so there would likely be some variability thrown in. Alex hadn't minded _that_ part of it. If anything, he _wanted_ to get full use of his hand back.

No, it was what came after that he minded.

Because MI6 – _Jones_ – thought it wise to add in a counseling appointment as well.

One that she knew all too well he wasn't about to cooperate with.

Really, the day had been going so well, too. The physical therapy had gone about as well as it could have, considering the circumstances. Sure, his hand ached following the session, but that was a _good thing_. He still needed to work on regaining the strength and motion in his hand, but the physical therapist had at least told him that his fingers were continuing to heal well.

That news meant that his daily exercises were to be upped in number and intensity – with the strict admonition to pull back if anything hurt – all with the hope that once it was kick started, the rest would come back with time. Though Alex personally held no illusions that everything would be as good as it had been before, he liked to think that the physical therapist's optimistic attitude meant _something_.

Then, Nico had taken him to another room in the building – _could Nico be the guardian…?_ – what had seemed to be an empty room turned into a makeshift office. He had been too caught up in determining the original purpose of the room that he was in the room before he realized what was happening. By then, the man was on to him. Nico had made a brief introduction, before making himself scare.

It had been maybe ten minutes already, but… He didn't _need_ a shrink to tell him his mind was messed up. He could tell that very well on his own, seeing's how it was – you know – _his head_ they were dealing with. And any platitudes about talking about whatever he wanted, how he was settling in, etc., was complete baloney. He wasn't going to believe it. Not while they were still on MI6's payroll.

Fifteen minutes and the shrink finally broke. "They tell me that last time you went through six psychologists before they found one to match your stubbornness." Where MI6 had found an English-speaking shrink in middle of nowhere Spain, he wasn't sure.

Alex had to give it to him. He had lasted fifteen minutes and continued to be very persistent. The man had managed to not only outlast long silences, but break them without seeming put out of his element. Usually, there was a touch of annoyance by now. It seemed that Jones had learned some.

"It seems you have a bit of a disagreement with psychologists." The man steepled his fingers in front of his face, his gaze looking as if he were trying to dissect Alex merely by looking at him.

Not that their gazes were meeting. Alex didn't respond and continued staring at the far wall, some distant spot just over the shrink's shoulder. Could enough to be – hopefully – infuriating, but far enough away that it was clear Alex wasn't paying attention.

Not that he wasn't. Paying attention, that is.

Alex was _out in the wild_. There was no way he could turn off what was now hardwired into his brain, constantly analyzing the situation around him, looking for the nearest exists – one through the door, no windows – and judging the current threat level – negligible.

The constant feeling of high alert – hypervigilance, a previous shrink had told him – was draining. Especially now, when he was already exhausted from not sleeping. Being on guard in a familiar place was bad enough – though somehow, he had _relaxed_ in the safe house – but being in an unfamiliar location took it to another level.

"I assure you; this is a most unusual occurrence for me." The man leaned across his desk, seeming to have caught something in Alex's lack of expression. "I don't normally get stuck in the adult version of a broom closet with someone who's convinced that he's hopeless – or pretends that nothing I have to offer can be of use."

It took effort, but Alex kept a neutral expression and didn't make a snappy retort. From previous experience, he knew _this_ was different from interrogations. While there you could goad the captor into anger or into giving up potentially useful information, shrinks knew _almost_ all the tricks. One concession here – _speaking_ , even as a retort – was akin to losing.

Alex didn't lose.

Ever.

"I suppose you think that after…" The man shuffled through papers that Alex uncomfortably realized were his evaluation papers. From months ago. "After seven months of intensive individualized counseling, you think that you know all there is to know about mental health. But Alex, I _can_ read between the lines. Those seven months were a waste. You could have made progress by now, but you refuse to work with those who are trying to help you. You're still stuck in _July_."

And _that_ cut.

Only biting his tongue kept him from snarling at the shrink. Kept himself from snarling and letting the man think he had gotten a barb in. _He_ had no place to judge. No one was capable of understanding just what he had gone through, because he was who he was. Instead of snarling though, Alex remained staring at the wall, counting down the seconds of freedom from this hell.

He would take weeks with a SAS team over this any day. Hell. He'd even go spend time with K-unit – who he _really_ didn't want to see – if it meant that he didn't have to deal with this shrink. They just didn't seem to get it. He was beyond help. He wasn't like the normal teenage angst and depression cases, because he hadn't been through anything that could have been considered normal. Even if you squinted at it upside down. Hell, he had lost track of how many times he had been kidnapped in the last two years…

He was isolated.

Unique.

A freak show for shrinks.

The hour hand on the clock tipped over onto the twelve, lining up with the minute hand. _Noon_. Alex didn't even wait to be dismissed. It had been thirty minutes. He had done his part. He merely stood up and headed for the door, with the intention to get as far away as possible, as quickly as possible.

"Alex, I'd like a word with your guardian."

This time, Alex did scowl. _Guardian_. He didn't even know who that was anymore. Or if anyone even cared that he had one. He _didn't_ need one. For _months_ he had been on his own and his shrinks had never once dared ask to speak with someone else about him. But then, the moment he had been cast into the agency's care, it had started up. Always little things. Little questions about his wellbeing. School. Whatever he wouldn't talk about. He _knew_ they talked about him. He was sure there was plenty in his file that he didn't want to know about – because he hadn't given them anything. They always got it from someone else…

Tempted though he was to claim ignorance – _no one_ had bothered to tell him who his guardian was, after all – Alex settled for glaring and stalking about the door. He nearly ran into Nico in his rush to get out. Alex didn't even give him a chance to say anything. "He wants to talk to someone."

Nico raised an eyebrow at him and Alex realized that his absolute displeasure was showing through. "Wait out here. The others should be arriving soon. Don't wander."

Alex's lips pressed into a thin line. He was being treated like a _child_. And here he thought it was maybe tolerable with this group. But no, as soon as they go out into the real world it's – _do this, don't do that_.

But that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

Alex glared at nothing, before slumping against the wall. He didn't _want_ to care anymore. He didn't want to care about what everyone else was thinking, doing, or saying. He was exhausted by it all. The momentary rage bubbling under his skin was gone as quick as it appeared, and left him feeling emptier than before.

Only a handful of minutes later, Nico rejoined him in the hall, and motioned him toward the exit – to where the others and their transport was no doubt waiting. Alex was just waiting though, waiting for the proverbial ball to drop. He knew without a doubt that whatever Nico and the shrink had talked about, it probably meant something _bad_ for him…

Nevertheless, they were halfway out of the building before Nico said anything. "You realize that there's a reason someone sent you to counseling in the first place, right?"

Alex ducked his head and refused to make eye contact. Of course, Nico would try to approach it that way. The _'I'm friendly and know what's best'_ way. But he _couldn't_.

Nico merely snorted at him, and Alex wondered what was considered funny. "You're not exactly the first person to have to go to counseling. It doesn't mean you're screwed over permanently or anything. Just that something needs work."

Alex snorted. _As if_. The only things the shrinks had managed to do so far was tell Alex something he knew already. His mind was beyond their help. And even if for some strange reason he decided to open up to someone, it certainly wouldn't be to some _shrink_.

"You do realize that _I_ was in counseling for weeks, right?"

Alex blinked. _Of course_. It made sense when he thought about it. _Nico_ had been _there_.

_No… not Nico… but, still Nico? Who?_

But Nico seemed so… _normal_. There were no visible signs that he had been held by terrorists for three, almost four, weeks. He didn't have any obvious outward signs, aside from a propensity to not venture out by himself. He hadn't taken any of the pickup missions in the past week, after all.

"But because I worked with them, things actually got better."

Nico's voice cut back into Alex's thoughts, and he barely repressed a sigh. Nico had been able to get _better_ , all because he wasn't too far gone by that point. He didn't seem to have any gaps in his memory from _whatever_ the tortures were. He seemed to know exactly what had happened – Alex was still trying to piece things together. Nico didn't have a daily visual reminder of what the consequences of his choices had been – every time Alex moved his hand or tried to do something like he used to, he was _reminded_. There was no way to escape it.

The conversation – though it wasn't truly one – died there and they were both silent as they made their way out to the waiting car. As promised, the others were waiting for them, and with a well-placed glare, Alex made it clear that he was done with them for the time being.

He was so _tired_.

He knew he wouldn't be able to keep it up very long, but he hoped at the least that after several days he would regain his control over _when_ the nightmares came. Pushing himself to complete exhaustion wasn't the answer—he had learned that one the hard way months earlier—but neither was going to sleep each night with the knowledge that it would only be a matter of hours before he was up again.

Alex let his head fall against the window of the car, barely noticing the Spanish countryside that was passing by. He wasn't sure, exactly, when he fell asleep—nightmare free, for now.


	19. A Bad Fit

He felt jittery.

Something was off, he could almost _taste_ it in the air, but he didn't quite know what. It was Nico's turn at surveillance in the small house – a position they rotated through quite frequently – but something had just felt _off_ through the entire evening. He wasn't sure what it was, but it had the hairs at the nape of his neck prickling in anticipation. Even Jacobs had picked up on his mood, having switched over at midnight with him. He knew without a doubt that if something came up, the others would come to his assistance, as usual.

That didn't help the feeling.

And sometimes, as much as he felt like he had shaken off the chains of his captivity, there were still moments… moments that brought those familiar fears and feelings back to the surface. Paranoia. Anxiety. Helplessness. The last was probably the worst, considering he was supposed to be SAS – but then that was the exact negative thinking his psychologist had always told him was more harmful than helpful. Better face things front on and figure out how to work around it.

And really, he could.

Most of the time…

So far, it had been nearly three hours – the wee hours of the morning – and there hadn't been so much as an out of place sound in the house. The neighborhood was quiet – by design – and they did their best to blend in with the odd holiday goers. Not that there were many holiday goers in May, but… As such, there weren't even noises or traffic out on the street – it was practically unheard of for someone to be out at such a late hour.

Perhaps it was the utter stillness that did it. The unnatural feeling of the calm before the storm hit with full force.

Nico twitched more than once at an imagined sound, freezing in place until he was certain it wasn't really there. If it weren't for the fact that there was only another hour and a half before his turn was over, he might have woken one of his unit mates for company. As it was, it was almost the end, so he set to prowling the halls – few that there were – so that he would have something else to focus on.

Then, the half wail, half sob caught his ear, followed by a shout loud enough that whoever was nearby and awake couldn't have missed it.

_Alex_.

Nico didn't even think twice about bursting into the small bedroom, but the sight pulled him up short. It was clear that Alex hadn't been planning to fall asleep, because he was still dressed in the clothes he had worn that day. The small bedside lamp was still on, and the book, the music player, and the headphones all gave evidence toward what he had been doing before falling asleep. Anything but sleeping…

The most telling though was the current expression on his face. Tears, _real tears_ , were coming out from under his tightly clenched eyelashes, expression contorted in pain. Alex's back arched, fingers – including those that should have still been encased in the brace – dug into the blankets, and he tossed and turned, clearly in the throes of a violent nightmare.

_Cold. Dark. Damp._

_Stifled sounds from across the room._

_Another nightmare._

_But there's nothing he can do._

Nico shook off the flashback, focusing on the _here and now_. "Alex…" He reached out a hand and grabbed Alex's shoulder, hoping that the touch would be enough to pull him out of the nightmare. "Come on, kid. It's a nightmare. You're safe here…"

It stopped the thrashing, but instead of waking up, Alex froze. Stopped breathing.

"Alex, wake up—" Nico was cut off as a hand flew, knocking him hard in the chest, and Alex tumbled off the other side of the bed into a crouch. Though the hit didn't hurt, it startled Nico enough to back up a couple of steps. The sudden raspy breathing showed that Alex had woken up following his tumble, but before Nico could even think about approaching the other side of the bed, Alex had scrambled out of the room.

Was he really the best for this?

It didn't take Nico long to find Alex, curled up on the floor in the bathroom, having already retched up his supper. He looked strangely pitiful, though Nico was sure that Alex would hurt him if he dared voice that thought aloud. The teen was shaking, a chalky white color covering his face, and seemed to be trying to regain his sense of self. Both hands were drawn toward his chest, though the fingers on his left refused to curl into a fist like his other. It was the first time Nico had seen him without the ever-present brace, and though the fingers were no longer noticeably disfigured, there was no doubt that something had happened and was preventing them from functioning properly.

A flash in the peripheral of vision alerted Nico to the fact that someone else was around – no doubt having heard the commotion. He turned back, making eye contact with a suspicious Cameron, but neither said anything. Cameron just nodded before flashing a hand signal that he would take over the watch.

Which meant that Nico got to try to get Alex back to himself.

Alex remained curled up and shaking, not looking like he was going to be moving any time soon. Nico remembered Mickey's warning though – Alex tended to lash out when he was in one of these states. He crouched down close to Alex, though not within potential striking range, before studying him closely.

Alex's haggard appearance suggested that he hadn't been sleeping well within the past several weeks – though to be honest, he had taken up sleeping off and on through the daytime. A way of warding off nightmares? He had been oddly cool toward them after the psychologist appointment, but that had seemed… _normal_. Still. The teen was still breathing rapidly, shuddering breaths that seemed to get caught in his chest repeatedly. It was entirely possible that his mind wasn't even focused on the room at the moment, instead trapped in some memory or thought conjured up by the nightmare.

"Alex…? You're… you're safe here." Nico floundered for the words, not sure what would actually be useful to help bring Alex out of it. "You can… relax."

The sound of a hiccuping sob only served to alarm Nico even more. Alex was always cautious about showing his emotions – even when he had been in whatever fever dreams had plagued him during their captivity.

"It's… it's okay…." Now was when Nico wished he could remember what his own family had done while trying to draw him out of his nightmares. They had nearly gone away in the intervening months, but that didn't mean he didn't have to deal with it. Especially not with such a visual reminder in front of him for hours on end. And he couldn't exactly go back to his psychologist… "Just… just breathe, okay?"

_Just breathe? Like that's so simple…_

"They _want_ it…" The mumble was so soft that Nico almost missed it for what it was. But the repetition of the same phrase, over and over, as an almost mindless chant, slurred though it was, clearly came from Alex. "No more… no more… Want it…" He turned away, so his forehead rocked against the floor, but he didn't show any sign of recognizing Nico's presence.

"Want… what, Alex?" Sometimes people said talking about it helped, so…

The shivering, trembling teen froze for a moment, before curling up even tighter and holding his damaged hand in an even more awkward position. He didn't say anything for a long few seconds before the trembling became even more apparent.

"Can't do it… stop it… get it out… Won't, won't, won't…" His eyes suddenly flew open, staring directly at Nico. His gaze was unfocused and desperate. "Can't trust you."

_"Why should I trust you? You could be with them!"_ The argument from the first day, but that had never resurfaced. No one had ever mentioned that first blow up and maybe… maybe that had been a mistake. For all intents and purposes, it had seemed like the teen had shoved everything under the rub, but now… it seemed that the distrust was buried deeper.

"They want it…" Alex's hand reached up and grabbed his hair, yanking hard on it. Nico could almost see the strands breaking, but knew that any attempt at stopping him likely would not go over well. "Have to _remember_. It's _all_ there… No, no, no!"

_Memories_ … That's what it all seemed to boil down to in the end. Alex seemed to be working with a fractured collection of memories regarding their captivity. "Alex… stop it. You're not helping yourself."

Alex's eyes shut again, still yanking on his hair. "Make it stop. No more. No more. Please, no more." His breath caught in his throat, turning into the shaking sobs once again.

It was too much for Nico, the helplessness. He _knew_ there wasn't anything he could do to fix things, but…

"It's the… I can't… _prison_ … won't…" The mumbled words were almost like nonsense, having no coherent significance to Nico. He couldn't make heads or tails of what Alex could possibly be referencing – and it didn't help that it wasn't all in English. Then, just as suddenly as the mumbling started, Alex's arm fell limp against his face and he body relaxed. He was still trembling, but something was different.

Nico all but held his breath as he listened to Alex's breathing even out until it seemed like he was _asleep_. All the fight gone out of him. Nico hesitated breaking the silence and instead just sat there, crouched, waiting for Alex to make the next move.

Five minutes later, it was like a switch had turned in Alex's brain. He got up, splashed water on his face, and all but scrambled out of the room and barricaded himself in his bedroom. A hesitant knock on the door earned Nico a shout that he should go away in a not quite so politely phrased manner.

The change was… baffling. One moment, he was as vulnerable after his nightmare and the next moment, he had thrown up all his walls again – with the last handful of minutes seemingly _rewritten_. It couldn't be a good coping strategy.

Nico turned away and headed toward the kitchen where Cameron likely was, deciding he might as well let him in on the seemingly newest developments with Alex. And he strongly hoped that there was a mug of coffee waiting for him somewhere too…

* * *

Although it was nice to get out of the confines of the house on occasion, it was clear that no one really _enjoyed_ their weekly outings. It wasn't like they were doing anything exciting and Alex was inevitably in a bad mood after the counseling session. The physical therapy always seemed to go well, but even that tended to be colored by Alex's attitude toward the upcoming counseling.

Which usually left Nico to deal with Alex's attitude on his own, while the others went out and collected much needed supplies. Though not professional chefs – or even amateur cooks – by any means, they were getting slightly more adventurous in their food offerings. One could only eat instant noodles so many times. Every now and then, someone would make it back before the session ended, giving Nico a _bit_ of company as he waited in the hall.

This week it was Jacobs.

"Managed to get the letters off and they said our families should get something in the next few days." Jacobs was in-charge of facilitating contact with their families, particularly when they were out on assignment. They couldn't exactly _tell_ their families their location – and mailing a letter from their exact location was liable to be traced – so they had a complex workaround long since set up. Though they would never receive replies, at least it was something.

"I'm assuming you picked up the new schedule?" The _schedule_ was the occasional briefing that central command sent their way. Although it wasn't exactly pertinent to their current mission, it at least gave them more information about the general goings on in SAS in their area – the other European units particularly.

"Yeah, I—"

The door to the psychologist's office slammed open, bouncing against the wall. "—and take that and _shove it_!" Alex shouted over his shoulder, looking completely enraged with life and the psychologist. He likely would've kept storming down the hall if Jacobs hadn't gotten in his way.

"Alex—"

Alex glared at them both, chest heaving in exertion. "I'm not… don't… I can't…" He clenched his hand into a fist and made to shove past Jacobs.

Jacobs held his ground, but only barely avoided the half-hearted strike Alex sent toward him. "You are _not_ leaving."

In turn, Alex's hand reached up to grab at his hair, face screwed up in a mixture of anger and terror. "Make it… I don't… Be with _them_ …" He stepped back from Jacobs, until his back was pressed up against the wall, and slid down until he was sitting, chest still heaving.

Nico and Jacobs shared a look. There wasn't anything they could do at this point, but… it was eerily reminiscent of Alex's initial blowup following the discovery of who his guardian was. Like a hair trigger that no one quite knew the triggers for…

The psychologist – a Mr. S, and that was all the info they were given – nodded Nico into the room, much like he usually did. He never usually said much, but always the same set of questions: how Alex was keeping up with his school and exercises and if there had been any _adverse events_ since the previous week. Not horribly invasive, but… from what it seemed, certainly more than Alex was usually willing to give up.

"I apologize if I've put him into a terribly bad mood for the rest of the afternoon, but…" The man shrugged, not appearing apologetic at all. "He needed to be reminded of some of the realities he currently faces."

Nico kept a blank face, but wondered just _what_ the psychologist had said that had managed to set Alex off so strongly. Although he knew Alex was notoriously uncooperative with counseling, and there were times that Alex lashed out at Nico for apparently just _existing_ , it left the niggling doubt that this was just another bad match. And a good match was the entire _point_ to starting therapy.

"From what he… _told me_ , Alex has only a vague recollection of his time in captivity." Mr. S fiddled with the papers on the desk, seeming to dismiss what had just occurred. "It's not something that going to get better with just a little talking or medications. Just another barrier to overcome, I'm sure."

Nico squinted at the man. Either this man was calling Alex a lost cause or felt that Alex's issues were… _trivial_. Was he here to actually _help_ Alex or just keep tabs on him?

_And where did these protective instincts come from?_

"How did he do with his classes and PT this week?"

Nico plastered a polite smile on his face. "Same as usual."

"Hmm…" The man scribbled something down, not even bothering to glance up before asking his next question. "And have there been any adverse events?"

Nico hesitated, thinking of the nightmare he had witnessed and made a split-second decision. "Nothing of significance." _To you_. Amazing how a shred of doubt and suspicion could sprout from one callous remark.

The psychologist studied Nico closely for a moment, but didn't seem to detect anything. "Very well then, I'm sure we'll see each other again next week."

_Not if I can help it…_ Call it a gut feeling, but this… this wasn't working or helping. And Nico would be damned if he kept forcing Alex to see someone who had so little interest in actually _helping_.

He turned and left the room. Alex seemed to have calmed, but his gaze was distant. _Almost like the last ten minutes hadn't even happened._

"Come on, let's get out of here." He breezed past Jacobs, knowing that the two would follow him. "Mickey should be waiting."

He knew he would have to get creative. But somehow, they were _not_ coming back next week. He just had to figure out how to do that without breaking orders…

* * *

_"Alex has only a vague recollection of his time in captivity. It's not something that's going to get better with just a little talking or medications."_

The psychologist's words replayed over and over in Nico's head over the past week, since that fateful fifth visit. Despite the continued unease at the thought of _that person_ being in charge of Alex's mental health recovery, there was also a worrying shred of truth. Alex _didn't remember_. And there were signs that Alex repressed other, related, events.

Not that Nico was a psychologist by any means…

But piecing the bits and pieces of Alex's comments over the past few weeks, it painted a somewhat disturbing picture. Alex had been involved in _something_ before he had been captured – something that had apparently involved MI6 interference in the first place. Since then, Alex hadn't dealt with whatever it was from before his captivity, much less what had happened during. That was clear enough every time Nico came across Alex dozing in communal spaces, obviously doing all he could to avoid his night terrors.

And to top it all off, Alex apparently had a lot of missing memories from his time in captivity – yet still had an inkling of who they were up against. He just hadn't deigned to share that with them.

There was really very little that Nico could do in the midst of it all – especially since any type of rapport they _could have_ had was lost along with Alex's memories. Which had been replaced with mistrust – but oddly, only when Alex was bursting at the seams. It left for an odd conundrum.

Nico had sworn to himself though that Alex wouldn't be returning to that psychologist – he had one more day to figure out how to make that happen without defying orders…

On the brighter side of things, the latest orders from military intelligence allowed them to loosen up on some of the restrictions around the house. It seemed that now that Alex had lasted so long at the safe house, they figured he was less of a flight risk. Alex was now permitted outside, so long as he was accompanied by someone at all times.

As such, in the past several days, Alex usually flip-flopped between taking over the bench on the porch, the chairs out behind the house, or the sofa in the living room. Sometimes sleeping, sometimes studying. After the first nightmare, weeks ago, he had hardly spent any time in his own room. The second one, now almost two weeks previous, had pushed even those limited times away, and he only went in there when everyone else was heading to bed. With increasing frequency, it was easy to find Alex curled up to sleep at the most random moments throughout the day.

It was all leading to Nico's increasingly absurd theory – everything was intertwined. He was no psychologist, but… Alex had seemed more reserved since the night terror, even more so following his blowup at the psychologist. And while he rarely spoke without being prompted – which, that was quite the personality change – he never once referenced events that had made him angry or upset. He never reacted when someone made a passing comment about the mug he had broken weeks earlier – there were only three now and they had never bothered to replace it. He had never commented on Nico being his guardian, not after the initial confrontation, but _had_ made vague references about a guardian as if trying to sound them out – which made no sense. He knew that.

And whatever came out in the aftermath of the night terrors… it was likely in reference to whatever _actual memory_ triggered the events. But none of it made any sense.

The update in orders had also coincided with the information that Alex's schooling would be able to start up regularly. He had his online classes to take, papers and readings to do, but now he would have access to an online tutor for two hours a day. There was a provisional allowance for his temporary disability, though so far, Nico hadn't seen any sign that Alex was favoring it. He merely refused to turn in anything that was written by hand.

The coursework was clearly a distraction, but a welcome one. It was clear that Alex was less than happy to be continuing with the arrangement, but so far, he had been _cooperative_.

Now Nico just had to figure out to get them out of the counseling session…

Jacobs burst into the house through the backdoor, startling Nico from his musings and causing him to spill his half-full cup of coffee across the table. He swore loudly – a waste of precious coffee and something nearly worth its weight in gold back on base – before turn to see just what Jacobs thought was a good reason for bursting in like there were enemies breathing down his back.

"Did Alex come in here?" The question was short and slightly breathless.

"No…" Last he had known, Alex was once again dozing in one of the chairs out back. That had been over an hour ago though, and he had been in the kitchen for nearly twenty minutes.

Jacobs swore loudly, before tromping through the house. Nico jumped up to follow him, noting that he was checking the most obvious places for Alex to be. The living room was empty, as was his bedroom.

"What happened?"

Jacobs spun around and fixed him with a look near pure desperation. "He was sleeping and I went to check the perimeter. I went back, not _five minutes later_ , and Alex is gone!"

Nico's heart sank. Just when things had been going so well…


	20. More Than Meets the Eye

He wasn't sure what had spurred him into doing it.

Perhaps it was the sheer mind numbingly boring classwork that was being thrown at him – what he had originally learned was in a much different order and sometimes he came across sections that he just _got_. But he still had to do the coursework.

Perhaps it was the stress of hiding his nightmares from the others – because who liked the loss of control feeling from having others know more about his nightmares than he did? If he wasn't studying, he was snatching naps during the day.

The situation with the nightmares was getting worse – he had had two that the others had witnessed. The worrying part of it all was the way the lack of memory followed him. He knew – _somehow_ – that the nightmares were memories. Potentially important ones. But as soon as he woke up and came back to himself, those memories vanished. Despite the fact that he had gotten off the medications that had been _drugging_ him into forgetting, he was still _forgetting_. There was also the niggling sense that once again, _something_ had happened – this time at counseling – but what had set him off… he wasn't sure.

So really, his life was spiraling out of control.

That was why he had left. He needed to prove to himself that he wasn't _helpless_.

Jones couldn't dictate his every more for the rest of his life. As it was, it seemed like she hardly had the situation under control. He'd skimmed the reports the unit was getting – less and less information each week. He _knew_ she wouldn't be able to keep him safe for much longer. He had played along with her charades for long enough. He needed to feel out the situation himself.

And the first step to that was gaining some independence back – and proving to himself that he _could_ do things. It had been more than four months since the _rescue_. That was more than enough time for recovery…

The plan had sprung on him that morning, while he was snatching his usual nap under the sun in the backyard. Between there and the couch in the living room, he was pretty much guaranteed to get a peaceful nap for an hour or two – something about the sunlight. Though it seemed like it should have gone against all of his second nature and training, the unfiltered sun seemed to do something that regular lights couldn't. It helped to chase away some of his fears. Some of the irrational and overplayed fears. That wasn't why he had stayed there and faked sleeping for well over another hour though.

He was biding his time.

Waiting for the perfect moment, when no one would suspect – as usual.

Jacobs was his current _bodyguard_ , but there were other duties he had to do. He had to eventually check the perimeter and that was the moment Alex was carefully waiting for. If he moved too soon, he would overplay his hand. If he did it right though… they would spend at least a handful of minutes wasting time checking nearby places. Of course, the ideal would be that they _never_ knew, but… He had to work with what he could get. It would still give him plenty of time to slip away.

It was a struggle though.

Alex fought to hold back a twitch as he felt the unmistakable eyes staring at him once again. Hopefully not Jacobs being tipped off at the unusually _long_ nap…

Then, finally, the moment he had been waiting for – Jacobs moved away. His steps were unmistakable as he moved to the far side of the yard, dead leaves crunching beneath his boots. _Have to watch out for those…_

Alex peaked out quickly, taking in his surroundings and judging distances from his current spot to one that would conceal him. Jacobs was at the edge of the property, almost around the corner of the house. That would give him approximately one minute to get out of the yard unseen and unheard. There were no windows out the back, aside from the one on the door, so no one inside would see him. And he was already familiar with the locations of the pressure pads around the perimeter – the back hadn't been high priority, for some reason.

His muscles coiled, ready to spring the moment he gave them notice.

He was anxious.

Heart thumping hard.

_Excited_.

He knew he couldn't go around the house – too high a risk of being seen by someone. The house to the right had a tall fence with broken glass at the top. The house off to the left would bring him right into contact with Jacobs – something he had to avoid if he wanted to actually get away. The house to the rear though… it was the most promising. Though there was still the broken glass at the top, there were some handholds and the spacing was wide enough that he figured he could avoid most, if not all, of it.

Jacobs' shadow disappeared around the corner and the mental countdown began in his head. Alex sprung toward the nearest portion of the fence. If he got caught now, they would know what to look for in the future – after all, this was only a _trial run_. The actual event would take days of planning – likely with them breathing down his very neck. But if they didn't know _how_ he did it now, they wouldn't know what to do to prevent it from happening again.

He took caution with his steps, avoiding obvious piles of leaves and debris, trying to dampen his steps. It worked fairly well, and soon enough he was scrambling up the side of the wall. He cursed the braced hand, because it really couldn't do a lot of the work, but found that at the top, where it was a choice of which hand to sacrifice to the glass, the brace protected him rather well. He only got a minor scratch as he jumped down into the neighbor's yard and couldn't help but grin to himself, feeling the exhilaration of getting something _right_ for once.

Getting out had to be the best decision he had made yet…

Cautiously working his way along the perimeter of the yard – because everything would go to hell if the neighbors saw him – he tried his best to blend into the surroundings, while surveying the house with a cautious glance. Once again, it was again a traditional style. Most of the windows were shuttered though, and there wasn't a glimpse of light in the place. He hoped that meant no one was home…

A cursory glance led him to believe that the owners were out for the day and with one more cautious glance at the dark windows, Alex let himself out the front gate.

He knew better than to think that just because he had made it out onto the streets meant that he was safe. No doubt, within a matter of minutes the SAS unit would realize that he was gone – and they wouldn't be able to tell if it was under his own power or not. Of course, he knew that all the files on him had marked him as a _flight risk_ , but… there were other reasons he could have gone missing from the backyard.

Hopefully they would jump to conclusions…

He walked quickly through the cozy neighborhood, appearing like any normal tourist just out enjoying the day by getting a little bit of exercise. He turned at random streets, rapidly carrying himself further and further away from the small street that they called _home_. The slightly spread out, independent houses, turned into walls of continuous construction and denser population. It brought him closer to the town, along with the aromas and perfumes of rural living.

It made sense that the safe house was placed where it was, as shared walls and doorways were common as the need for housing grew higher and space decreased. Alex surveyed the doorways, noting the narrow alleyways here and there. Within ten minutes of walking, with a few random turns here and there to throw off any invisible pursuers, Alex was well and thoroughly away from the usual neighborhoods and into the _local_ areas. Narrow streets, even narrower sidewalks, and the sense of being crammed into a small space.

When he hit the actual streets of the town though – a place where the flavor of the air changed from neutral to charged with activity – he remembered _why_ he didn't like going out. He was somewhat surprised that he had _forgotten_ in the first place… The people made him uneasy – especially when it felt like everyone was staring at him. Of course, he was the stranger in town, immediately obvious by his hair coloring, quite light compared to the darker shade that most had in the south of Spain.

Alex shoved his hands into his pockets, his earlier exhilaration at being free and on his own, suddenly weighed down by the sheer oppression of people's eyes following him. He pressed on anyway. _He could do it…_ They _wouldn't win…_

He shoved his right hand deeper into his pocket, fingers catching on something metallic. Surreptitiously, he leaned against a wall, before glancing down to identify the objects. A few euros… From when, he wasn't sure, but it was a windfall. Purpose, at the very least.

Maybe proof to himself that he could do something. Be independent again.

He made his way down the street, ignoring the constant itch between his shoulder blades, and pasting on a content expression to his face. The people he passed on the sidewalks almost invariably glanced up at his hair, before sending a cool gaze his way. But it was a normal… Saturday? It was most likely a Saturday… but all days had more or less lost meaning weeks earlier. There was no routine of the week, just coursework and sleep. But if it was a Saturday… it helped him blend in all the easier.

A few hours wouldn't hurt…

Alex forced himself to pass up the first few shops, knowing that soon enough his freedom would come to an end and the others would catch up with him. He wanted to… savor it for now. He slipped into the last shop on the main street – or at least, the last shop that looked promising – and gave the owner a hesitant smile. All the while, keeping a wary eye on the street and pretending to be a normal teenager.

" _Are you looking for something in specific?"_ The owner asked with a cheery smile.

" _My girlfriend wants chocolate,_ " Alex said, making up a story on the spot. " _But, uh, she didn't tell me what type. What do you recommend?_ "

"Ahh!" The shop owner gave Alex a knowing look and proceeded to go into a long spiel about the different chocolates they had and why different women favored different ones. It was clear that the candies were not the largest seller, but they still had quite the selection. Alex only had a few euros, but since it gave him the opportunity to step out of the streets and effectively put his back to the wall for a few minutes, he made sure to use it all.

By the time he was back on the streets, it was getting close to siesta time. Which meant that the streets were going to become deserted, all the shops would close up, and everyone would disappear. And since he was currently using the populace as his hiding method, he would have to do _something_.

He meandered back down the main street, watching warily through shop window reflections for anything out of place. The game was going to be up soon, but that didn't mean he couldn't hone his skills in the meantime. The constant feeling of being watched wasn't as strong as it had been, which he assumed meant that the people in the streets weren't as bothered by his presence. He was no longer a novelty.

Now the question was, did he wait for the SAS unit to catch up? Or did he head back to the house? The sight of several benches in a park-like area caught his attention and well… that won. Alex crept through the park, keeping an eye on the people around him. No one bothered him as he slid onto the bench that butted up against the wall. No one was going to sneak up on him there.

Not that it would make much difference if the SAS unit snuck up on him or not. _They_ were going to be furious either way. So, he might as well enjoy the sunlight…

Though he could have done with some sunglasses…

Alex leaned back against the wall, letting the cool brick seep through his jacket. Nonchalant. Invisible. There weren't too many people out – siesta time – but the park wasn't deserted either. And the longer he sat there, the more relaxed he felt.

Maybe what he really needed to do before _everything_ was exposure therapy… the more time he spent out in the open, the less he felt like a million strangers were going to come bearing down on him. But then, there was also the fact that before his paranoia had served him well – there really _had_ been people after him, and there still was…

He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket, almost wishing he had a cellphone, just so he wouldn't look too out of place. But then, a cellphone was very easily tracked and that just _wouldn't do_. This time though, instead of finding the coins – which he had spent all of – his fingertips brushed a crumpled piece of paper.

His brow furrowed. That didn't make much sense, even less than the presence of coins. He figured the coins in his pants had just gone unnoticed since the initial shopping trip. This jacket… it had come with a small shipment of clothes that someone had packed up from his last placement. He hadn't worn the jacket in _months_.

It was a small, brightly colored post-it note, written in handwriting that clearly wasn't his own.

_(kE2a53df) korean Egg 2 apple 5 3 drip fruit - D.S._

Alex stared at the random set of letters and numbers, and corresponding signature. It… was complete nonsense. But then… maybe there was a purpose to it? He shoved it back in his pocket, wondering what it could possibly mean. Was someone trying to send him a message? Or was it just a coincidence?

A glint of light caught his attention, setting Alex on high alert, looking for a weapon in his vicinity, before realizing it was just a kid playing. It brought him back into clear awareness of his surroundings though, and he involuntarily started scanning everyone for threats. It seemed that his moments of relaxation and freedom from paranoia were over.

Another flash of light, this time from an all too familiar car, caught his attention and Alex knew the game was up. He had been hoping that it would last a little bit longer, but… he now had another mystery to ponder. It was probably time to head back and deal with the wrath of the SAS unit. As annoying as it was, he supposed they would probably have the right to be angry with him. Just so long as it didn't backfire… he wasn't going to stick around as long as Jones wanted him to…

He forced himself to relax, slouching down on the bench and letting the collar of his jacket ride up around his ears.

He could still get out and away.

He wasn't completely useless anymore.

It was only a matter of moments before he saw Nico stalking his way across this park toward him. Of course, the _stalking_ wasn't clear – to the casual observer Nico looked to be out for a stroll. But Alex knew better. The taste of freedom had been… long overdue, but now faced with the consequences he wasn't entirely sure it had been worth it in the end.

Nico's eyes narrowed at him as he got closer, but he sat down ever so casually next to Alex. His cheerful expression just barely hid his absolute… _fury?_

_Huh. Stronger reaction…_

" _Are you having fun, Alex?"_ If it weren't for the fact that Alex could clearly see it in his eyes, Nico would have sounded perfectly normal. Anyone walking by would have thought it was just a casual conversation. " _We really have to get going._ _Did you find something you liked?_ "

The question threw Alex for a loop. He blinked, trying to figure out what the expected response was. He wasn't sure what, and settled for a shrug.

Nico's eyes narrowed at him even more. " _Did you find something for your_ girlfriend _?"_

Alex blanched. _How_ did he know about that?

Nico nodded, before standing up from the bench. " _Let's go._ _The others are waiting in the car."_ There was no option in the command. It was doubtful that anyone in the car would be happy with him, but… Nico left little room for argument.

Alex stared at him for a long moment, wondering what they would resort to if he decided to be uncooperative. Would they drag him out of there? Risk causing a scene and getting local authorities involved? It wasn't worth finding out though, so he got up to follow Nico.

Nico clearly wasn't taking any chances, as he slung an arm around his shoulder, a show of companionship, but really, he had a tight grip on Alex, fingers digging into his arm. "Don't you dare try anything." The threat was obvious in the words muttered under his breath, but Alex once again wondered what they would actually _do_. He expected them to be angry – it was probably an affront to the SAS that he had been able to get away so relatively easy – but wasn't sure how far their anger would stretch when faced with pure defiance.

Also, it was interesting to be on the other side of anger for once, without feeling his own anger and messing things up.

Nico pulled out a cellphone as they wandered, casually, down the path back to the main street, calling the others and telling them to met back at the car. Of course, the last thing Alex wanted was to be stuck in a car with four _angry_ SAS men, but it seemed that he had dug his own grave.

_Should've thought ahead, Rider_.

They walked only a couple of blocks of the main street, which was now nearly empty due to the siesta, before turning onto a side street. Nico carelessly shoved Alex into the backseat of the car. Cameron and Jacobs were already there, both sending him a glare that promised retribution.

"Not a word," Nico commanded. Not that Alex was planning on saying anything…

When they started driving, he supposed that Mickey must have been back at the house. Probably in case he showed up without their help. Which had _maybe_ been his original plan.

Granted, the consequences might have been lessened… but he wasn't really worried about _what_ they were going to do. After all, he had survived worse already. They couldn't kill him – well, technically, they could, but they were SAS, they had some morals – and they couldn't really make his life any more miserable than it already was – aside from maybe cutting off his ability to sleep on the bench outside. He was already exhausted all the time, so what more could they do? And, if it got too much worse, he would just leave again – with _no_ plans of going back.

The silence was heavy, but Alex was the king of awkward silences. He wasn't going to give them any information on how he got away. There was always the _slim_ chance that if he annoyed them enough, they'd go back to MI6 and he'd have another chance to convince Jones that he could function perfectly well on his own again.

_Like that was going to work…_

She had denied him seven times already – and he somehow doubted that sneaking off on his own was going to look very good in her eyes. But he couldn't help but try.

He had to do _something_.

Sitting around and waiting… waiting for the nightmares to get to the point where he couldn't function… it just wasn't working. Completing all the back coursework… while knowing that as soon as he left the _protection_ of the SAS unit, someone was likely coming to kill him – or worse? He needed to be in charge of his own life. MI6 hadn't done a very good job until this most recent placement…

The car pulled through the gate, still in a frigid silence. Nico gave Alex little choice as to his next actions by taking hold of his arm and all but dragging him inside. Could he have fought it? Definitely. But he needed to once again convince them that he was docile and innocent. Once inside, Nico sat Alex down in a chair and gave him his most forceful glare.

Alex had to admit, it was actually a fairly good one… though he doubted that there were any in the world that would actually make him cower in fear anymore.

The moment the others were all in the room – _so, a public dressing down, then_ – was the bursting point for Nico. "Of all the insane, _absolutely reckless_ , idiotic things to do!"

Alex merely blinked at him, mentally rolling his eyes, but figuring that that might just be a little too much. Might as well Nico blow off some steam though…

"Do you have any idea how much time we just spent looking for you? Just because you apparently decided it would be fun to go out on a lark?"

"About two hours," Alex deadpanned.

"Exactly. Two hour—" Nico's scowl kicked up a notch, pushing him into the fully ticked off category. "Now listen here, I don't know what you were thinking when you decided to pull that stunt—"

Alex cut him off with a disinterested shrug. "I was bored." _Chafing for freedom. Needing to prove myself._

"Bored?" Nico's eye twitched. "So, you decided to just _flaunt_ all this security because you were _bored_?"

Alex sighed. They were taking this much further than he had intended. "Yeah, and I wanted some chocolate." He waved the bar he had gotten.

"And did you even _think_? You think all this security is just because we feel like it? Just so you can go wandering around some town, flaunting and spreading your presence where you _stick out_ like a sore thumb?" Nico advanced closer, almost growling the words. "Just so I can go looking for you, ask a random shopkeeper if he had seen a _blond_ teenager running around. Only for him to tell me that some kid had been in buying chocolates for his girlfriend. _Girlfriend_."

"Well, I wasn't going to say it was for my _boyfriend_ , was I? Besides, I couldn't tell him it was for me. He would have wondered why I was wandering all on my own." Really, it was simple misdirection. If the shopkeeper thought that there was a second person, it didn't look as strange that a teenager was all on his own, clearly in a foreign city. Nico looked speechless. "If that's all…" Alex stood up out of the chair, ready to leave the confrontation.

"Sit." Cameron barked at him, becoming the second one to lose their hold on their temper.

Alex dropped back into the chair, ready to hear them out. Really though, he doubted they would have anything useful to add that he hadn't heard from one of his guardians before. _Ungrateful… Ignorant of your safety… Can't keep you safe…_

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you realize you were put into protection for a reason, right?" Nico bit out, looking like he very dearly wanted to introduce his fist to something. The others didn't seem to be faring much better. "It's our job to keep you protected, and we can't do that if you're flouting the rules and running away."

A technical detail. "Running away? That's what you call it?" He shook his head, not caring that they were _all_ glaring at him. "I had every intention of coming back here after I had what I wanted." _A taste of freedom_. "And if I wasn't, believe me, you wouldn't have found me there." Going to the nearest town and hiding out there was an amateur mistake. He knew better. That hadn't been the intention with this… _excursion_.

"You exposed yourself," Cameron insisted. "If the wrong person caught wind of your presence, you could be dead."

"Haven't died yet." Alex gave him a cheery smile. And it wasn't for lack of trying by others, but… "Don't plan on dying anytime soon either."

Nico slammed his hands down on the table, leaning over until he was right in Alex's face. It took all of his willpower to keep from flinching away, but Alex wasn't going to give the man the satisfaction of knowing he had finally broken through one of his barriers. "What part of _terrorists_ don't you understand kid? They're trying to kill you. They want you dead. Or was the kidnapping not enough of a sign for you?"

Alex scowled. That was a _low blow_. And to be fair, _no_ , the kidnapping hadn't colored much of his opinion since he couldn't _remember it_. "People have been trying to kill me for over two years now. They haven't succeeded yet – and that's no thanks to _their_ help." _They_ hadn't even tried to help him for most of those years, had in fact been the reason he got into those situations in the first place. And the more recent attempts on his life were almost certainly tied back to one of the moles within the company. "I can take care of myself." And he had, for years already. Every misplaced assassination attempt had been thwarted by none other than himself. Or by his body's own stubbornness to give out. "Besides, I don't think death likes me – keeps spitting me back for more."

Cameron clearly did not appreciate his nonchalant attitude. "You're our responsibility. Stick to the rules or we'll tighten them even more."

Alex pushed his chair back still scowling. He started to walk out of the room, intent on ignoring them, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He flinched at the tight grip, swallowing to keep the sudden panic at bay. It wasn't a _friendly_ grip. "I… suggest you stop touching me."

The hand didn't move.

Alex waited a moment longer, body tensed in inaction, before spinning and grabbing with his good arm. He twisted the hand into an awkward position – not one that would permanently injure, but would hurt if they tried to struggle too much – before glaring at all of the shocked faces in the room. "I made a suggestion and you didn't stop. So, I made you." He dropped Mickey's arm and scampered back toward the door, this time a fake grin plastered across his face. "I can take care of myself."

He didn't even give them a chance to respond, all but running back to his room. For the first time in weeks, the room didn't feel like an impenetrable darkness. It felt like… hope. He shut and locked the door, before sliding his chair over in front of the door as well. He wouldn't put it past them to try something, but he really wasn't in the mood for seeing any of them.

Allowing himself a private grin, he congratulated himself for getting away scot-free. Felt elated that he still had _some skills_. They couldn't do anything to him. He was untouchable. He wasn't going to cave under Jones' wishes for the rest of his life. Eventually, he would find his opportunity. And then, no one, not even the best in the business – spy or terrorist – would be able to find him. One day, he would be free.

He glanced at his laptop, knowing that soon the elation would wear off and he would need to find something new to do. But homework wasn't exactly appealing… His fingers touched the piece of paper he had found in his pocket.

Random letters and numbers…

Could it be…? A password?

He kept an ear out for any noises from the house, but it didn't sound like anyone was going to come bother him anytime soon. They probably would, just to make sure he hadn't slipped away again. _As if_. But for now… he had a mystery to solve.

The D&T folder on his school USB had bothered and frustrated him to no end for the past few weeks. He had had nothing to go off of for a password, but… if this slip of paper… It seemed too farfetched, but he also knew he hadn't worn the jacket in months and certainly hadn't written the note for himself.

He opened the laptop, waited for the loading screen to disappear, then clicked on the D&T folder. The dialogue box for the password popped up once again. With nothing else to go off of, the worst that could happen would be that it was another dud.

_kE… 2… a. 53… d… f_

He hit enter and – it didn't immediately error out.

A smile spread across Alex's face. Things were looking up. Of course, there might be nothing of interest in the folder, but… _someone_ had gone through the effort of creating it _and_ sneaking the password to him, so it had to mean something.

Another dialogue box popped up, but this time with a bunch of writing.

_My dear boy,_

_Let's keep this between you and I, shall we? Jones doesn't need to know about this little discretion. She has been playing all her cards close to her chest, so I know little about your current situation – past or future. The rumor is that it is to keep you safe. But you also know that rumors here at headquarters quickly morph and fly between agents. Keep your head on straight._

_I am aware only of the current mission briefings being sent your way, though whether they go to you directly or someone else is unknown. Know that they are not complete. Jones does not have the complete picture. It is quite possible that none of us do._

_Because of this, I do not entirely know what information you will find useful. In this file, you will find both information and several gadgets. Couldn't have you go without those! The information is self-explanatory, though take it all with a grain of salt. Some of it relates to your most recent_ adventure _. Some of it relates to general information gathering that has been ongoing at headquarters._

_The gadgets are also self-explanatory, though limited because I am not sure what resources you have, aside from the laptop. If you have a smaller device – and my boy, if you do not, find a way to get one as soon as possible – there are instructions for adding some of the gadgets in app version. Otherwise, you will have to use the laptop. Use it wisely._

_And finally, your file has been blacklisted to only those with the highest of security clearances – Jones herself. Although Jones is not all-knowing, know that she is doing her best by you. Whatever she may do, she does it out of an attempt to keep you safe following all of the previous missteps. You are currently with those she deems best of the best – I recommend you don't take that lightly._

_Keep your chin up. Don't fall into complacence. We'll see each other on the other side._

_-Smithers_

_P.S. The next USB will have updated files. Use the same password, but the first number will be one higher._

Alex blinked. _Smithers_. He hadn't heard from or seen the man since… _before_. But he was coming through with resources. It was all another step toward being independent again. Information and gadgets. He would be able to actually plan and know what to do when he finally got away.

He clicked through the folder, taking note of just _how much_ was available to him. At this rate, it wouldn't matter what information the SAS unit had. There was nothing _forcing_ him to stick around just for the sake of getting information. Of course, he wouldn't get an update if he left them…

Though Smithers admonition that he was with what Jones considered the _best of the best_ was somewhat unnerving. Were they really the best of the best if a 16-year-old teen could get away from them? Or was it really that he had just slipped through a gap in their protections that were only visible from the inside and not the outside?

It wasn't likely that he would get those answers.

He paused on the information tab, where there was likely a detailed report of his captivity, cursor hovering over it. Within that file were potentially answers to some of his nightmares… but was he really ready to explore those? There was a niggling sense of fear in regards to _everything_ that happened during those three weeks – even though he couldn't precisely remember. He had managed to write down what he _did_ remember, once or twice after a more minor nightmare, but none of it had made any sense. Disjointed thoughts, feelings, and glimpses of what _may_ have been. As it was, there was no way to tell what was memory and what was conjured up by his mind.

Forgetting everything that had happened _before_ the captivity…

But how could he trust what his mind remembered…? Would he ever be able to really tell that what he remembered fit with what others reported without _reading_ the report? Even just _thinking_ about the captivity and the lost memories made his heart quicken in anxiety. Vaguely, he pinpointed these feelings as what he experienced right before his explosions at his previous guardians. High anxiety, fight or flight response, and then, nothing. Nothing at all.

Alex stared at the files, heart pounding in his chest as he contemplated how reading them might affect the gaps in his memory. What if… what if they had answers… What if, there was something in the midst of it that just acted like a… _key_?

A bang on his door startled him out of his contemplation.

"Alex, open this door, now."

_An hour had passed…?_ Alex shook his head. Right… this probably wasn't the time to delve in too deeply. The SAS unit was angry with him. He needed to lay low for a little while. Whether that meant hiding in his room or proceeding with the pattern he had held for the past few days by doing most of his work on the sofa… he wasn't sure.

"I can hear you in there." Nico was still definitely in the pissed off stage. "Open the door, or I _will_ find the key."

Alex got up from the desk, closing everything out on the laptop and hiding the slip of paper back in his pocket. His curiosity was piqued, but this wasn't the time.

He had some plotting to do. Smithers said there were apps. That meant he needed to figure out how to get a cellphone…


	21. Puzzle

Over the next few days, it became clear that although his little jaunt had been short, it had been far too much for the SAS unit to accept. His hours of freedom had apparently cost him the little amount of respect he had gained with the unit. Not that he truly cared about that… but, upon reflection, it had been nice to go through the day without having to worry about someone glaring or scowling at him.

It had been a nice change… but a change that was now gone.

They seemed particularly determined that he not do the same thing again, or even have a _chance_ at it, and went so far as to have someone in the same room as him at all times. Cameron had been quick to lay down the law that he was only allowed in his bedroom during the evening hours – greatly cutting into his ability to explore the information Smithers had passed his way.

The restrictions only increased Alex's desire to get away again, but at the moment, he wasn't entirely sure how he was going to pull that off when they were watching so closely. Not that he was ready to go the moment their guard dropped. Alex _knew_ that in some ways, Jones had been right. The hand injury severely limited his ability to protect himself. But that was getting better, day by day.

The end was in sight.

The unit would eventually back off, and he would be ready. Prepared to take his chances and get away for good.

Oddly, Nico's anger and annoyance bothered him the most. Alex knew he hadn't been entirely welcoming toward the older man – after all, he wasn't _positive_ he could trust him given their shared experiences – but he hadn't expected the feelings of betrayal as the only person who had an inkling of what was really going on, turned against him. He should have expected it, but still…

After two days though, Alex knew that it was going to take quite a while for them to back down and relax again. He needed to bide his time.

Unfortunately, just because he felt more in control of his life, and had a light at the end of the tunnel, didn't mean that the nightmares had magically disappeared. Though his bedroom felt more welcoming, filled with purpose, the falling asleep at night only held the dangers of more nightmares. Which he didn't exactly want to experience, thank you very much.

So as to not rock the boat too much – because screaming nightmares were really the last thing he needed now – Alex continued with his naps on the couch. For now, at least, the others seemed content to let him have that security. Out of doors had been banned though.

"Alex, phone's for you." The voice startled him out of his doze, and Alex blinked up at Jacobs with a slight glare. The man was holding a slim mobile out to him. The first cellphone he had seen in the safe house… "It's important."

Alex rolled his eyes as he took the phone. Who would bother to call _him_? "What?" He asked the person on the other end of the phone.

_"Hello Alex."_ The voice was unmistakable.

Alex scowled, sitting up on the couch. "Jones."

_"I've heard that you're being less than cooperative."_

"What's it matter to you?"

_"Come now, Alex. Your safety is one of my highest concerns right now."_

Alex snorted. She had single-handedly given him over to people seeking to kill him. "Isn't it always. And you've done such a good job." He ignored the glare he was getting from Jacobs. _Probably thought he shouldn't be so disrespectful. Respect is earned…_ "Nothing quite like getting nearly killed by my MI6 appointed guardian. That just _screams_ that my safety is of a high priority."

_"Alex, you need to cooperate with them. The SAS are out from under our purview, they're not influenced by the in-house politics."_

"Like that matters," He spat out. "I was safer when I was on my own. I survived plenty well. And at least then I could trust myself not—"

She cut him off. _"They can't keep you safe if you're running out on them – like you did with_ all _of your guardian here, might I add."_

Alex glowered. Guardians which had tried to _kill_ him. "I wouldn't have the problem in the first place if it weren't for your wonderful lot." Might as well go back to the original issue. _All_ of his problems could be easily traced back to one specific point in time – the day his uncle had been killed. Everything after that was just ripples – and his own stupid actions. "Remind me to write you a thank you note for royally screwing my life over. And maybe I should send Blunt one too, so he doesn't feel left out from my lack of respect." Spewing it all out actually felt somewhat cathartic… but the reality was that all that aside, he still had his own actions to be responsible for.

There was a long pause before Jones' trademark monotone came across again. _"Blunt was found dead this morning."_

Alex blinked, the color draining out of his face. He disliked the man, but never actively wished him dead. "What?"

_"He was found in northern Spain this morning. He was fleeing something, we've gathered, but we're not clear on what. It's not 'reformed SCORPIA,' as that operation was taken out weeks ago. However, there are signs that it was linked to your recent kidnapping."_

Alex swore loudly. Reformed _SCORPIA_?

_"How elegantly put, Alex."_

"—the _hell_? You decided to call me up, tell me he's dead, and then go on to say you have _no idea_ who did it? Just so that I'd cooperate with your people? No way in hell!" If that was the level of information they had, then did he really dare trust _anyone_?

_"Your safe house will be moved in a few days. It's important to remember that every time you venture out, you're risking being seen or caught by someone. Keep that in mind."_ For a moment, her voice almost sounded human and reasonable. _"Don't be brash and stupid, Alex. We're trying to help you out here."_

His hand curled into a tight fist around the phone. "Go. To. Hell." He didn't even wait for a response from her, just hit the end call button, and narrowly resisted the urge to throw it in anger. He shoved the phone at Jacobs' chest, before storming up the stairs toward his bedroom. Screw the rules. Using the key he had swiped days earlier, he unlocked his door and slid inside, letting the door slam shut with a resounding and satisfying noise.

If Jones thought that telling him the news that the man who had royally screwed up his life was dead, would spur him into cooperating, she thought wrong. It only served to reinforce the message that _someone_ was after him and one of the most complex security agencies of the world knew fuck all. All he had to go on were vague feelings and impressions, but he _knew_ they were after something. There was something he knew, some information, they wanted and apparently were willing to go to quite far extents to find out.

He glanced at the laptop. The files had remained for the most part unopened – mainly due to the lack of privacy he had been afforded in the past few days. He was also tense about _opening_ them, the niggling sense of uncertainty as to what exactly they might hold. Was he really ready to read about someone else's views on his captivity, when he himself still could not remember?

_People are dying…_

Though he had no love lost for Blunt, the man who had so royally screwed up his life, he knew that whoever was after him would just _continue_. Not that he was about to just give himself up… Though admittedly, there were times when that option seemed like the more reasonable one. Then it would just be… _over_.

Alex shook his head. He wasn't going to go down that train of thought. Not today.

He sat down at the laptop and pulled up the D&T folder. He had opened the folder numerous times in the past several days, but had never delved into what it held. Even so, the password slipped off his fingers with familiarity.

_kE2… a53… d… f_

He hesitated once again. The same thing that had caught him from looking further the past few days.

He was scared of what he would find. He was scared that whatever these files held would either unlock all of his memories, or none at all – and he would be stuck in the same place he was currently. No idea what anyone wanted from him and no way out.

Maybe… maybe it would be best to start with the gadgets. He clicked through the layers of security Smithers had built in to the program, before settling on a page that showed three… _games_? _Minesweeper_ , _Chess_ , and _Solitaire_. Obviously, it was more than first meets the eye, because he doubted that Smithers would have gone through so much trouble to get it to him, only to leave it with _games_ he could easily find on the computer already.

He opened up _Minesweeper_ and was thrown by how… old the program looked. It honestly _looked_ like a game, but… Alex clicked on the _help_ tab and was rewarded with an _about_ section. Opening that changed the entire look of the game and was clearly the _portal_ into the gadget. A dialogue box popped up, requesting access to his files. He clicked _yes_ , figuring that Smithers hadn't sent him a virus or something.

The screen immediately changed to something similar to a radar detector. He stared at it for a moment, picking out the walls of the house that were being detected in green, the yellow-orange hotspots within the house that indicated the SAS soldiers, and the fainter blue spots that showed… what? It wasn't clear how far the reach of the detector went, but along one edge that would have been toward the back of the house, there was a line of blue spots spaced out at regular intervals. There were other blue spots closer to him, including one that must have been – Alex looked around, taking a moment to orient the picture versus reality – right at his window.

He went over to investigate, but the only thing out of place was the panic sensor on the sill that had been there since they had arrived. It had been pretty standard in his apartment, so he hadn't thought twice about it. Obviously though, it wasn't transmitting a signal back to MI6, it was likely transmitting a signal to somewhere else in the house. Likely their monitoring room.

Alex looked again, noting that his own yellow-orange hotspot had moved when he had moved, and showed a blue spot almost superimposed on him. Probably his watch. One of the SAS dots – and who knew who it was – had a blue spot as well. So… blue spots were electronics or something similar, green showed solid walls, and yellow-orange showed people. The range of the scanning was unknown, but… it was certainly something that would come in handy.

He clicked out of it, and a second dialogue box popped up asking if he wanted instructions to download the app on his phone. Since he still didn't have a phone, he clicked _no_ , but determined that getting a phone somehow was going to one of his top priorities. Even if it meant taking another unsanctioned excursion.

The _Chess_ game looked similar at first, but once again, as soon as the _about_ tab was clicked, the screen switched. This time, there was a note on the screen. _Sorry, my boy, but this one is best used on another device. A laptop won't be practical for breaking any digital locks. Follow the instructions for download._ Well… now he _really_ needed a phone…

The final one, _Solitaire_ , opened up to yet another familiar game screen. This time, there was no _help_ tab, but there was a game options section. The screen changed yet again, with a popup requesting headphones. Alex grabbed his earbuds off the table next to the bed and plugged them in. Immediately, voices filtered into his ears. It took him a moment, but he recognized it as Mickey, apparently recording a message for his… _family_?

_Redirect for increased clarity_.

Alex turned the laptop slightly and heard Mickey's voice quiet out, but moving it in the other direction made it louder. _Directional_. A listening device. He supposed this was another gadget that would come in handy. He could keep track of whatever briefings they had – though perhaps even that would be unnecessary once he looked through the information he had.

Of course, if they were moving safe houses… who knew what kind of surprises there were for him.

He closed out of the program, clicking out of yet another popup box asking him if he wanted to install the app, before returning to the main screen. Useful gadgets, but… what he really needed was information.

_"Ready, Rider? We've got plans for you."_

He shook his head, pushing out the intrusive thought. Alex clicked through to the information folder, finding a single app, _Reader_. Within _Reader_ , which looked similar to any digital reader application, there were four categories: _General, Operation Freedom, POI,_ and _Assets_.

_Might as well start with General…_

* * *

Alex stared at the information in front of him. It just didn't add up. The numbers, and dates, and rationales… it didn't add up to what he _knew_ was going on. Though he doubted he was missing information… what they had didn't _go together_. It didn't corroborate.

The general information was just that – _general_. There were few details, but enough that he was able to grasp the gist of what the intelligence service knew. And that was _very little_. From all accounts, it appeared that Reformed SCORPIA had disappeared just as quickly as they had appeared – just long enough for them to rise out of the woodwork and screw Alex up, apparently.

There was a noted rise in terrorist groups worldwide, though most of them appeared to be smaller fish. Smaller unrelated groups. Which was why it all seemed to strange. It gave a general sense of discoordination – which was to be expected with a handful of groups worldwide. It wouldn't do for one larger group to be running everything – like SCORPIA had tried to. Yet the way the data matched up – or rather didn't in just the right spots – made it seem like there was something _bigger_.

Jones' statement that Reformed SCORPIA hadn't killed Blunt was… likely true. Which meant that there was another player that MI6 suspected of being involved.

_But then, why did Reformed SCORPIA take the fall for the kidnapping?_

It seemed that not a week after Alex's rescue, all signs of Reformed SCORPIA had dried up and any known or suspected members has quickly shown up dead.

It was a dead end.

_"They're SCORPIA! How long have they wanted me dead? Not enough time in our weekly meetings?" His chest heaved violently._

_"Alex—"_

_"Don't_ Alex _me. You knew about those bastards. You knew they were back. And you didn't even give me any warning._ Let's just keep Alex on his leash, don't tell him anything. _Don't bother telling_ me _that the people who want me dead are back in business!"_

_"That's not—"_

Alex shook his head. He remembered being furious with Jones at that point, but about what… had always been indistinct. Had Jones been trying to tell him that reformed SCORPIA was already gone…? That it was clearly someone else now that was out for his blood? But he had been too… _angry_ to listen?

Then, the fiascos with his guardians had occurred – so obviously another party had taken interest. Or had been pulling the strings for reformed SCORPIA from the beginning. A more likely story. Mrs. Harcourt – _Madam Sargent_ – had been tied back to a group known only as _Los Ojos de Angeles_ , which had also promptly disappeared after her interrogation and subsequent "death". Alex doubted that the death was accidental, though on whose side the blame laid… was more difficult to pinpoint.

Alex wasn't even sure what he was feeling anymore. He wasn't sure if he dared look at the other information sheets – the details of his captivity were hiding somewhere in the midst. And while he knew he needed to _remember_ at some point, he worried that it would only serve to drive his nightmares even further…

Now… Now was not the time.

But it was coming. And he would know the truth.

* * *

They had left him alone for only a few hours that morning – apparently deciding that his blow-up at whoever it was on the phone wasn't an indicator that he was going to try to pull a runner again. It had given him some "cool off" time, to let the simmering anger at Jones die down at least a little bit. But by noon, they had restricted his movements again. There was no option to explore the other files left to him by Smithers.

The unit had, in fact, been so controlling in his movements that the next opportunity he had was late into the evening. Alex _knew_ that these reports were certainly not _bedtime_ stories, but… He needed to know what was going on. It was clear that MI6 hardly knew what was happening, so could he really trust them to be responsible and keep him safe? While Blunt was clearly not Jones' highest priority, him getting killed was just… a huge strike against her.

The information on his own captivity hadn't been under the general section though. And supposedly, he was no longer counted under _assets_ by MI6 – Jones' excuse was his age. Though he found that he didn't really believe her on that, so far, it seemed that she was trying to stay on his good side. Believing that he could actually _be_ something in the future – more than just an MI6 plaything.

He clicked on it anyway. In it were personnel files. For the most part, on people Alex knew very little about. There were a few familiar files here and there, Ben Daniels, Smithers, Mrs. Jones, and… _Nicolas Kendrick_. Though his own paranoia and uncertainty had kept Alex from daring to ask Nico about anything that had happened… he couldn't help but admit he was slightly curious. _He_ obviously had all his memories intact…

The file was bare-bones – unsurprisingly – with limited information about his training and skills. He was apparently the signals expert in the unit and had trained at Brecons for quite a number of months before deploying with his unit to… Gibraltar. They were apparently part of a new initiative of language intensive units – which made sense, considering how they all spoke Spanish like natives.

The unit had four members. In the file, it only referred to them by their code names: Cougar, Antelope, Frog, and Zebra.

Zebra.

_"You can call me… Zeb."_

_Alex rolled his eyes, not ready to get familiar with his cellmate. "Yeah, well, you can call me Alex."_

Alex blinked, remembering the interaction. Clarity for a moment. Zeb. Zebra. It made… sense.

It wasn't… a lie?

Not entirely.

More than ever, Alex wondered what Nico's thoughts on the experience had been. If he hadn't been lying… then maybe Alex _could_ trust him…

He skimmed over the other information – including the note that Nico was the designated guardian of one _AJR_. Well, there was that question answered. The reality though was there was very little information. There _had_ to be a… a… dossier or something on that subject. Smithers said it was there somewhere.

Which left _Operation Freedom_ – which, really? – and _POI_. _POI_ was quickly ruled out – though it appeared to have _lots_ of information on various terrorist groups, worldwide. Meaning that _Operation Freedom_ was somehow associated with _him_. He wasn't sure if that was Smithers' clever naming, or really something that Jones herself had designated…

Alex clicked to open the folder, but blinked when a dialogue box popped up. ' _Warning: Contents accessed by AJR on June 2, at 3:00 pm. If you do not remember these actions, stop now.'_

He stared at the flashing warning.

June 2.

That was two days ago.

Two days ago, when he had first entered the password.

Which meant… he _didn't remember_.

He couldn't…

He just…

But that meant….

That meant his memory was still being messed with.

He recognized the sound of shattering glass before he knew what he had done. The photo frame that had once sat on the edge of his desk was now in scattered pieces on the other side of the room.

"Shit," he breathed. "No. No, no, no." His hand reached up to grip his hair, yanking on the strands and trying to bring a bit of clarity back to his thoughts. This wasn't how he dealt with things. He knew better. He had learned better…

But he _didn't remember…_

He scrambled for the bedspread on his bed, pulling it around himself as if it were some sort of shield. He sank down into a crouch between his bed and the wall, effectively blocking himself in. Nothing more. No more could go wrong. He kept pulling on his hair, trying to find his ground again.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He knew that. But he didn't know _why_.

He just… _couldn't remember_.


	22. Trust?

Jacobs had stopped Nico from immediately going after Alex when he had stormed into his bedroom that morning – after all, they had laid down the rules pretty clearly. The only time Alex was allowed in his bedroom was in the evening. And Nico wondered if they could really _trust_ him for that. It was like the entire mission objective had just taken a complete turn. Instead of keeping Alex safe from the outside world, now they were keeping Alex _confined_.

It had been going so well…

Jacobs had given him a terse explanation that someone from MI6 had called specifically for Alex and something they had said set him off. What though… no one was quite sure. With that knowledge, they had left Alex be until lunch – with close monitoring of the sensors in his room. They weren’t about to have a repeat with him just up and disappearing. It was back to business as usual for the afternoon and evening though, with Alex’s movements mainly restricted to the sofa.

It was unfortunate that this was what it had come to, but… Alex had shown that he couldn’t be trusted. Just like the files had warned.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, after Alex had been allowed to return to his room, that they were actually able to get any sort of update on what had occurred with the phone.

“Who the hell called and caused that blowup this morning?” Cameron demanded.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Jacobs said, looking pensive. “One moment I was taking down the coordinates for the next drop, and then there’s a woman demanding to speak to Alex. She used the security code from our last briefing.”

Nico frowned. Only those higher up were supposed to have access to the codes. “And it just riled him up?”

“He was angry the moment he heard the voice on the other end. And he knew who it was.”

“He did?”

“Someone by the name of Jones. And he seemed to have quite a hefty history with the person, judging by the way he was all but yelling at her.”

“Anything useful?” Cameron asked.

Jacobs shrugged. “Only that he apparently blames them – this Jones lady and someone else – for the way his life is right now. And that someone recently died. And…” His lips pressed into a thin line, before he shook his head. “Alex seems to think that one of his previous MI6 appointed guardians tried to kill him.”

Nico clenched his jaw. _Of course._ They had all been well aware that Alex had gone through numerous guardians in a short span of time, after coming off a guardianship arrangement for several months. But Alex was stubborn and hot-headed, it was little wonder that he clashed with whoever had been put in charge. And it was clear the he was loath to trust anyone– that had been made clear in the past several weeks. Hell, in the past several days.

Alex had probably only been pulled from the guardianship arrangement because they – someone high up in MI6 – had decided that he was no longer able to take care of himself. A wise assessment with the state of his hand. But now that he was getting better, seeing progress, he was chafing under the restraints.

“It just… it doesn’t add up.” Cameron started pacing the kitchen. “Why does this kid get a guardianship arrangement in the first place, when it sounds like he was being targeted _before_ the kidnapping even happened? MI6 deals with international threats – obviously why we’re _here_ , instead of domestic. What happened during that captivity, aside from his injuries, made them decide he was in considerably more danger?”

There were obviously wide swaths of information that were just… missing. They had holes in the story they knew. And it seemed that Alex might have holes in the story that he knew. Nico had no idea and was afraid to start speculating. It was looking more and more likely that they had been given the assignment as a stop-gap measure. To try to keep Alex safe from an enemy that they didn’t know.

“He did yell something about being better off on his own…” Jacobs shook his head slowly. “I just don’t get it. If he’s so stubborn, why are they forcing him? I mean… I don’t _want_ him to get hurt, but I feel like that’s what he’s driving himself toward. He’s going to get out one of these days, and there’s not going to be anything that we can do – because he’s apparently as good as Houdini at escaping.”

Jacobs was right. At this point, there wasn’t much they could do aside from tightening down the restrictions. Give him less and less opportunity for time alone, less and less opportunity to make an escape. But it wasn’t as simple as that, and they all knew it.

The sound of something hard hitting the walls had them all jumping to their feet and rushing toward Alex’s room. Nico hesitated, flinching back from the door when something solid hit it as well. _Something_ had made Alex angry, like nothing else before.

But now…? Nearly a whole day later…?

Mickey came out from the observation room and shook his head slightly. “Sensors are still intact,” he murmured.

One final thud from the wall furthest from the door rang out, and then silence. The four of them waited for a heartbeat longer, but there were no more sounds from the room. It couldn’t have been more than a minute.

Cameron nodded the group of them back down the stairs, apparently deciding that engaging Alex at this point would be unlikely to be productive.

_Probably a wise choice…_

Back downstairs, Cameron turned to them. “Similar to his first blowup. Nico, check on him in a couple hours, before your turn on shift. Jacobs, go help Mickey with the monitors. We don’t want anything… strange happening.”

Nico glanced up at the ceiling, the room above eerily silent. It was similar to when Alex had thrown the mug, but… different.

It wasn’t a good sign.

* * *

It was close to midnight before Nico even _attempted_ to check up on Alex. Mickey and Jacobs had assured him that nothing had been triggered or even nudged. The place was as quiet as a crypt.

He had, of course, knocked hesitantly before entering Alex’s room. There had been no response – as he would hope at such a late hour of the night. As much as Alex seemed to pretend that he didn’t need to sleep there were quite visible differences in his personality between when he did and didn’t.

The room lights were still on full blast and Nico entered hesitantly. If Alex was up, or still in a mood, he didn’t want to inadvertently make it worse. The door caught on a book that had likely been the culprit of the bang on the door. Nico picked up the book, still staying wary, and placed it on the desk, along with several other items that had obviously been thrown around. Even the laptop – which Nico could have sworn Alex would protect with his life – had been knocked around and was sitting precariously on the edge of the desk. It was a miracle it hadn’t fallen.

The most notable, out of place, thing in the room were the shards of mirror that had been both embedded into the wall and the floor. The cause of the loud crash. The shards caught the light, but that seemed to be the only sharp casualty.

On first glance, it seemed that Alex had defied their expectations and gotten out, because there was no sign of him either in front of the desk – obviously – or on the bed. Nico took several more steps into the room, not wanting to spook him, just in case… After all, before the entire fiasco of his little _jaunt_ , Alex had made it clear that his room was his realm and entrance was by permission only.

Then Nico caught sight of him. Like a… child that had been sent to a room for a time out, Alex was huddled up against the wall beside his bed, pushed back into the corer. As small and insignificant as possible.

_A nightmare?_

It had been early, but not altogether outside of the realm of possibility. But usually, the nightmares didn’t result in destruction of property.

Alex had apparently fallen asleep in that position – despite whatever had set him off. He had obviously been agitated before falling asleep because he had clearly been tugging and yanking on his hair – a sign Nico had come to recognize as Alex’s anxiety response – because one fist was still clenched tightly in the strands.

After observing that there had been no injuries or the like, Nico cautiously backed out of the room. There wasn’t much more he could do, and waking Alex certainly wasn’t the answer. He headed downstairs to give Cameron his report before taking over the monitors, but he wasn’t sure _what_ he was going to say.

* * *

It was a long and – thankfully – uneventful night. Alex had stirred at some point in the early morning, but aside from that, nothing happened. Nico was, of course, curious about what exactly had happened the evening before, but knew better than to expect any kind of explanation from Alex. They would be lucky if he was in a decent mood for the morning.

If they got five words out of him in a day it was considered _good_.

Nico was looking forward to his turn on rest, all of them having been on high alert since Alex had taken off. He was running on only a few hours of sleep and there was another outing scheduled for the next day. Despite everything Nico was _still_ trying to figure out how to successfully avoid seeing the psychologist again. It wasn’t a good match, and… Alex deserved better than that.

He did have to admit, however, that Alex’s little walk had seemed to reenergize him. Although he could still be found napping on the sofa, there was no longer a sense of deadness around him. He was alert and engaged – even though he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t. Even the day before – phone call notwithstanding – Alex had been clearly engaged and… _plotting_.

Nico guessed that their easy days were over… but felt somewhat heartened that the teen he had glimpsed at the beginning of their captivity was starting to make a return.

He second guessed his thoughts the moment Alex slunk into the kitchen that morning. He looked tired again, lost in his own thoughts. The spark was still there, but it was much… _dimmer_ …

Alex mechanically went through getting a bowl of cereal, not really seeming to register Nico at the table. Nico kept a wary eye on him, but he seemed content to just sit and eat the food. When he finished though, he didn’t immediately get up – like he had on any other day. Instead, he stopped and stared at Nico.

Although nothing had been said, a long silence stretched out between them. And if Nico had learned _anything_ about Alex, it was that sometimes he just needed to be out waited.

“Zebra,” Alex said, eyes keen. “You’re Zebra.”

Nico blinked. _Where_ had Alex heard that? Though their codenames weren’t exactly top secret within the house – none of them had used them in well over a month. Even the briefings – which Alex had _definitely_ swiped more than once – had used their real names.

“Zeb.”

_Oh_.

Nico cleared his throat. “Yes, I am. Though, how…?”

Alex waved it away, a small smile spreading across his face. The first _real_ smile Nico had seen from him. “They really had no idea who you were, did they?”

So, it seemed that the elephant in the room was _finally_ going to be addressed. “No… I was… a random pick, as far as we can tell.” He shifted uncomfortably. This wasn’t exactly the topic he wanted to cover when he was exhausted, but…

Alex cocked his head. “So why lie?”

_Why, Zeb?_ “Standard protocol requires that if you are taken captive the only information you can give up is codename and ID number. Anything beyond that…” He shrugged, glancing down at his hands in guilt. “I was hoping that the element of surprise might show itself at some point and I could use it to my advantage. But… that obviously didn’t happen.” He smiled ruefully.

Alex stared at him intently, seeming to process the information. “Why… why didn’t you ever say anything?”

That… that was something that he was still grappling with. A conflict between his own training and his own morals, as his therapist had once put it. “You were… They were obviously targeting you, using some sort of leverage against you, but had no idea who I was. I was… worried that if I said something too far out of the norm… they might make things worse.” Though how much worse they could have gotten… Nico wasn’t entirely sure. He supposed they could have killed him…

Alex nodded slowly, gaze off in the distance – but for once, he didn’t seem agitated. “You were trying to help, then?”

“Of course!” To imply otherwise… “I mean… I had pretty much lost hope by the last day, but…” He tilted his head, staring at Alex. “Surely you realize that I was trying to keep you alive for much of that last week?”

There was a long pause and Nico wondered if he had crossed some line.

Alex took a deep breath, like he was trying to settle himself. “I don’t remember.” His gaze locked onto Nico. “I don’t remember any of it. All I know is… you were there. But everything else…” He shook his head, like he was trying to rattle the memories into place. “It’s just a messed-up jumble. And I know I remember sometimes, but then it’s just… gone.”

Nico’s breath caught in his throat. He had suspected, but to have it confirmed… He couldn’t imagine what it was like for Alex. If he didn’t _truly_ know what had happened.

“It’ll come in a nightmare and be gone in the morning.”

They hadn’t trained for dealing with memory loss. Though some may think that _not_ remembering what happened was better… it was likely the threat of the unknown was even worse than reality.

“I just… I know that _something’s_ stopping me.” Alex took another deep breath and let his shoulders relax. “It’s all up there.” He tapped his forehead. “I just can’t… get to it right now.”

Nico wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wasn’t sure what Alex expected from him. To bare all the secrets about their captivity? To share what he knew? Or was he not fishing for answers?

Alex stood up from the chair, put his bowl in the sink, and turned to leave the room. “It’s nice to know though…”

“Nice to know what?”

“I think you can be trusted.” And with that, Alex walked out of the room, leaving Nico with more questions that he started with.

If he didn’t know better, he would have suspected that Alex was high on something – more mellow and relaxed than he had ever been. But… there were some very key pieces of information that Alex let go, freely. Firstly, that he didn’t remember – whether that was amnesia or some other such thing, who knew – and secondly, that he hasn’t trusted Nico because of the conflict of names and the unknowns of what he did and didn’t remember.

Now though… he _trusted_ Nico?

There was certainly no telling what would come from that…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not updating in such a long time. Life has been... hectic and a bit of a struggle if I'm honest. I'm going to try my best to keep going. Your responses help keep me motivated. Stay safe everyone.


	23. Patience

The last twenty-four hours, Alex had been more or less functioning in a fog. He wasn’t quite sure what to think anymore, but had settled for tentatively accepting Nico’s existence. Perhaps he was the only one that could actually be trusted, given that MI6 was most definitely infiltrated. But Nico… Nico seemed _safe_. It was amazing how knowing just a _little bit_ had helped him try to accept someone.

Of course, there was still the issue of him still forgetting things – the report of his own captivity _stymied_ him – when he should be free from all foreign influences. Though he trusted the unit not to drug him, even if they tried, he _knew_ there was little opportunity for them to do it without drugging themselves in the process. So… safety in numbers, he supposed.

The morning of his next appointments rose bright and early, and Alex remembered Jones’ parting words – _Your safe house will move in a few days_. Since no one had said anything so far, Alex suspected that that morning would be the last time he saw the safehouse. He took care to pack up his few school supplies, though by now, most everything was on the laptop. The USB he slipped into his jacket pocket. It was, by far, the most valuable piece and the most likely to get overlooked. And even though he had the password, he didn’t want someone else snooping.

When both Mickey and Jacobs stayed behind at the safehouse, Alex’s suspicions were confirmed. Usually, on outing days, only one person stayed behind. And given recent events, Alex had supposed that they would have been keeping a tighter eye on him. The number should have gone up, not down.

It didn’t quite all add up though. If they were leaving, Mickey and Jacobs would have to find another mode of transportation. Or someone would have to double back and pick them up. Alex cast a suspicious glance at Cameron and Nico, but kept quiet as they drove through the Spanish countryside. As much as he didn’t like the thought that Jones was still calling the shots, it wouldn’t do to rock the boat now.

* * *

Wordlessly, Alex followed Nico out of the building for the last time. Though they had all been suspiciously silent that morning, it was clear that it was the end. The physical therapist had made it clear that his continued progress hinged on his persistence with the exercises, and then had downgraded him from the hard brace to a more minimalistic soft brace. They told him that it would only be a couple of more weeks before he could stop wearing it all the time, and to be honest, as much as Alex abhorred it, he was almost afraid of what came next. Although the disfigurement was hardly noticeable – thanks to the work of some of the best orthopedic surgeons in London, if Jones was to be believed – the safety of the brace was somewhat reassuring. Going without… it was hard to imagine.

As well, the insistent drilling and homework exercises were just another piece of evidence that this was the end of physical therapy for a while…

Surprisingly, Nico hadn’t tried to force him into seeing the shrink – he had merely asked Alex if he _wanted_ to and then not pressed at the resounding _no_. So… another point in his favor. Of course, _something_ had occurred at the past meeting, though what exactly Alex _couldn’t remember_.

It was a worrying, growing theme in his life.

Cameron was waiting for them outside, and a glance in the back of the SUV showed that he had stocked up on essentials while waiting for them. It was more than they usually had and indicated that something was changing.

“We’re being relocated,” Nico said as the car pulled away from the familiar building.

Alex merely nodded. Nothing surprising there. Though what had the others thought about seeing his already packed belongings…

“Mickey and Jacobs will be meeting us at the new location with the things from the safe house.” Nico paused and peered at him. “There wasn’t anything you need immediately, is there?”

Alex shook his head.

“We’ll probably be driving all night and well into the morning.”

So, well over 12 hours. It meant that wherever Jones was sending them was a bit of a trip. _Further away from London…?_ Depending on the direction they were heading, 12 hours could take them well into France, or even Italy or Switzerland. Perhaps not Switzerland, if they took back roads and avoided cities on the way.

Nico passed back a couple of sheets of paper. “Although it’s unlikely we’ll be stopped anywhere, there are the identification papers just in case. The first sheet explains who we are and why we’re traveling.” He sent a rueful glance at Cameron. “But that’s really only going to matter if Cameron gets caught speeding, so we should be fine. Think you can manage to play along?”

Alex resisted the urge to roll his eyes and nodded. He skimmed over the information, taking in the details here and there. _France, it was._ It was an awful lot of details for a _just in case_ scenario, but then he also suspected that it wasn’t generally good etiquette to have foreign military personnel operating inside another country without their permission. They just had to keep everything covert.

In turn, it just gave Alex hours to figure out why Jones had decided that _France_ was the next safest place for him. What information did she have that suggested his position in middle of nowhere southern Spain was compromised…? Aside from Blunt being killed in the same country, but hours and hours to the north.

Out of it all though, the most unsettling fact was that he was _glad_ that his guardian – this time – wasn’t changing. At least Jones hadn’t seen them as incompetent for not being able to keep a hold of him.

Given his newfound tentative trust in Nico, there was at least the possibility that Alex could _relax_ a bit. It was unfortunate that they were likely all too honor bound to MI6 and Central Command to follow him off the grid for a real escape from those who chased him… but for the time being, _perhaps_ they were adequate.

* * *

Crossing the border into France was completely unremarkable – as expected. It was nothing more than a nondescript bridge connecting a Spanish city to a French city, hardly visible with the sun rapidly setting behind them. At some point, Nico and Cameron switched positions driving, and Alex allowed himself to snooze in the back. Though he was marginally worried about nightmares, he suspected that he wouldn’t be able to get deep enough asleep to really have to worry about that. Of course, a nightmare in the vehicle wouldn’t exactly be ideal…

It was almost midday by the time they reached the new safe house, this time a two-story stone house set away from any cities or towns. Out in the countryside. The location was remote, with nothing but trees and shrubs in sight.

Perhaps this was Jones’ attempt at keeping him from running off again. If there weren’t any nearby towns to wander to, surely, he wouldn’t go out. Of course, there were also a lot more options of places for him to hide if he desired. If Jones expected the location to be a deterrent… she clearly didn’t understand his reasons for wanting to get away in the first place.

For now, though, he was content to play the meek little protected citizen – though it seemed that _maybe_ Nico was starting to catch onto the fact that he wasn’t quite as meek as he appeared. Maybe he would have to… explore those options. Instead of shutting them out completely, maybe it was time to start refining his skills once again…

Mickey and Jacobs had already arrived, obviously having taken a shorter, more direct route. There were likely sensors and who knows what else already set up around the property. Though it did make Alex wonder if these safe houses already existed or if someone was going around repurposing general houses… repurposed houses were probably safer than preexisting houses, considering the moles within MI6 – something else that needed to research.

Mickey threw him a suspicious glance as he crossed the lawn, as if he expected Alex to try to slip away the moment someone wasn’t looking. It didn’t matter. If anything, it was somewhat amusing. The harsh scrutiny would fade away over time. And by that time, perhaps Alex would have a chance to truly take things into his own hands.

Nico led the way down the small, almost nonexistent hall, to the bedroom at the very back of the house. There were two small windows up near the ceiling, not anywhere near big enough for him to even have a hope of slipping through. The only thing the room had going for it was that it was well lit, from the overhead lights.

“It’s pretty small,” Nico said, looking almost apologetic. “It looks like they’ve downgraded us quite a bit with this place.” He shrugged. “It’ll have to do until they decide we’re better off somewhere else.”

And if the previous trend was followed, they would possibly be stuck in this place for well over a month.

Alex glanced around the room, noting that his things had already been placed there, but not unpacked. All his possessions in the world boiled down to two small bags. It was twice what he had arrived to Spain with…

Nico jerked his head at the belongings. “I’ll leave you to it.” He sent a glance at the windows, then a cheeky smirk toward Alex. “Guess we don’t have to worry about you slipping out the windows here.”

Alex rolled his eyes, before flopping down on the bed. He ran his fingers over the hand-quilted bedspread, wondering just who had put enough thought into a mere MI6 safe house in another country. Perhaps it was just another sign that this house was being repurposed. Maybe in another life it was a cozy little getaway for French nationals. _Perfect for a family vacation_.

He snorted. If this was a family vacation, it was bordering on the most messed up one he had had to date.

Though Ian dragging him along on family “vacations” while he was actually working in the field was a little far-fetched…

He looked over his belongings and wondered where to start. There was really so little to do, but… it meant he had very little inspiration to do it. Clothes went into drawers. Books went onto the desk. Laptop, pens, papers, too. He fingered the USB in his pocket. He could run the minesweeper to see what kinds of protections they had around the house, but that wouldn’t give him too much useful information before he had seen the house for himself.

There was definitely an upstairs, but he had _no idea_ what they had up there this time. And who knew how the minesweeper worked when he was on the bottom floor and not the top… he had only run it before in the privacy of his room, upstairs in the last house.

Someone cleared their throat and Alex spun around. Cameron stood at his doorway, a visible frown on his face. It seemed that the confrontation with the unit leader he had been more or less avoiding over the past several days was finally happening – with or without his consent.

“We’re going to be here for a couple of weeks,” Cameron said, leaning against the doorway. The posture made it clear that there would be no escaping the conversation for Alex – not unless he physically charged the man. _A dumb plan._ “And you need to know that this won’t be like the house in Spain. There won’t be any unsupervised wandering. Someone stays with you at all times, and your door stays _open_.”

So not locked out of his room, but left with little to no privacy. Alex scowled at that. The door was the _only_ thing that gave him privacy at night. If he didn’t have that, they were going to very quickly catch onto his nighttime habits. If they hadn’t already…

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. We’ve been moved to a higher threat level, and I think you know what that means.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “I can expect to have someone breathing down my neck if I so much as _think_ about taking a step outside.”

Cameron gave him a sharp nod, though looked slightly puzzled by the lack of fight. “We’re not going to pretend that we don’t know that you know more than you’re letting on.”

It Alex a moment to work through that sentence, and fought to keep a scowl off his face at the implication.

“Our employers aren’t exactly giving us a lot to work off of. They keep saying that if we need to know something, you’ll be sure to let us know. But that’s not been happening, so everything’s going to get tightened down around here.”

So, MI6 still thought he knew more than he was letting on. Did Jones not understand the ramifications of _memory loss_? Though to be fair, he wasn’t about to mention the latest realization that it was still happening, to _her_.

Cameron gave him a sharp glance, as if waiting for him to spill all his secrets. Alex said nothing.

“Figures.” Cameron let out a sharp huff, before turning toward the hall again. “We’ll be making dinner in a couple of hours. Get settled in, take a nap, whatever, just keep the door open.”

Alex frowned down at the ground. He had made some progress with Nico, but the others… As much as he hated to admit it, _something_ was going to have to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Predictions?


	24. Adaptation

The first week in the new safehouse was… rough, to say the least. There was a distinct lack of privacy, for everyone concerned. Though from the outside it looked bigger than the last place, it was actually smaller. Narrow hallways. A tiny kitchen area. An almost non-existent living room. It was only a matter of days before they were all chafing at the lack of space.

The unusual sounds didn't help either. He had grown accustomed to the creaks, groans, and occasional traffic outside the last house. Here… everything was dampened. Softened. Occasionally, the wind howled through gaps in the stone – thankfully not into his room. All in all, the place left a lot to be desired.

The nightmares had once again taken a turn for the worse – but Alex was no closer to remembering anything from them. All he had was the unnerving urgency that there was something important in the dreams, no matter how nightmarish they were, but it always slipped away. By some miracle, he had, so far, been able to keep his nighttime habits from the others.

He also hadn't dared look at that file containing information about his captivity. The knowledge that he had _looked_ at it once, but didn't remember _looking_ at it was beyond unnerving. Out of his control. And there were so many reasons to explore _why_ this was even possible. He wasn't being drugged anymore. There was no possibility of an _outside_ influence. But…

The thought of asking Nico about the captivity had crossed his mind, but he wasn't sure he was ready to acknowledge the gaps in memory. And it would likely only serve to make Nico more… suspicious of everything. Which wouldn't do.

Relations with the unit were… improving once again. Nico had already come around and Jacobs didn't seem like he was really capable of holding a grudge. Cameron had been somewhat frosty toward him, but even he seemed to have come to the conclusion that Alex was just being a _dumb teenager_. Which wasn't anywhere near the truth, but… if that's what they thought, he wasn't going to argue. However, Mickey was the one who continued to watch him with an eagle eye whenever he was in one of the common areas. Alex didn't blame him. After all, a teenager had essentially pulled the wool over the eyes of an entire unit of highly trained soldiers.

Despite all this – nightmares, memory loss, and unit drama – Alex had actually managed to get a decent bit of coursework done. At the rate he was going, there might actually be hope that he could sit the exams. That would at least be a step toward satisfying Jones.

He was still more or less exiled to the living room during the day hours, which provided a decent view of the out of doors – where he couldn't go. And while classes and school had been enough to keep his brain occupied for a while, after days and days of limited activity, Alex was chafing at the boundaries. He hadn't set foot outside of the house at all. Even just glancing at the doors seemed to make the others – Mickey particularly – go on high alert. As if they were waiting for him to make the wrong move again.

He sighed. Something needed to change.

"Grab your jacket, we're going out."

Alex looked up at Nico, surprised. There was the friendliest, most welcoming look on his face. More welcome than had been there in days.

Alex was suspicious.

"We're going to spring this cage for a couple of hours." Nico's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Unless you really want to stay…"

 _Out_?

Was it a trap?

But a trap for what…?

Alex dropped his book onto the side table, and got up. If they were giving him a free out… well… he was going to take whatever they gave him. Or he would wind up leaving without their permission again… and Jones would probably find a way to crucify him for it.

Nico full out grinned. "That's what I thought. Be outside in five minutes. Jacobs is getting the car out."

Alex nodded, and went to his room to put away his books and grab the jacket. He threw it on, no longer having to be so absolutely careful with his hand. It still ached at times, still needed to be iced after overdoing it on exercises, but there was progress. He could independently move each of his fingers, grip an eating utensil – which he had only attempted in the privacy of his own room – but it was all a vast improvement from even a month earlier.

His hand brushed the USB that was still sitting in the pocket of the jacket, reminding him that he still hadn't done _anything_ with the other information that was on there in over a week. He needed to do that… And hopefully they would have an update for him sometime soon, though how soon they would be making another pickup… was unclear.

Mickey was absent from the common rooms, and Cameron hardly gave him a second glance as Alex walked out the front door for the first time in a week. Which Alex took to mean that only half of the unit would be going. It was different from the outings in Spain, where three had gone all the time. Was France deemed _safer_ for some reason?

Nico and Jacobs were already waiting in the car and Alex slid into the back wordlessly. The few moments of _real_ sunshine and fresh air had been welcome. Though he had no idea where exactly they were planning to go, at least it was somewhere that wasn't the house.

The French countryside passed by, narrow roads with almost nonexistent traffic. He hadn't paid close attention as they were coming in, aside from when they had crossed the border. He knew _very little_ French geography, aside from the main cities. And they were definitely not anywhere near those big cities. They were out in the country with the rolling green hills and trees that stretched out for miles.

Nearly ten minutes into the drive, Nico turned around and addressed him. "We're in the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region." At Alex's blank stare, he rephrased. "Western edge, south of Brittany."

Alex nodded, as if that made any more sense, but filed the information away for later use. At the very least, he could find a map somewhere and figure out where they were in relation to anything else. And it would give him the opportunity to locate what resources were nearby.

Though who knew how long they were going to stay in one place…

"We are going to Niort to pick up supplies and Jacobs will be getting the latest information drop." Nico fixed him with a stern look. "No funny business in the city and we'll look at loosening up restrictions around the house."

Alex snorted. "And you decided the best way to see if I'm trustworthy is to test it out in a city?"

Nico shrugged, looking back toward the front. "I figure if you're stupid enough to leave behind a trained soldier in an unfamiliar city while you're still not up to scratch… you're dumber than you look."

Alex blinked, not sure if he should feel insulted or acknowledge that Nico had a point. He wasn't ready to set off on his own. He needed more information. More resources. More tools. He _wanted_ to be out from under MI6's thumb, but… there was an odd growing assurance of safety in numbers. Four individuals were difficult to corrupt.

He had grown to _trust_ them.

That was a horrifying concept.

* * *

_"Even though we're no longer in Spain, we'll continue as Spanish tourists. Use Spanish when we're conversing. I'll take care of any interactions with locals."_

Nico's quick guidance before they left the SUV was only slightly baffling. It was odd to use Spanish – especially when Alex _understood_ the people around them. But then, it seemed that his knowledge of French wasn't exactly in his file. For now, it seemed that that was for the best. It meant he had yet another trick up his sleeve if worst came to worst.

To be fair, Alex was half expecting an ulterior motive to the outing to arise – counseling or physical therapy, at the least. But so far, it had seemed rather mundane. Normal.

Odd.

Nico had asked Alex's input in deciding what food to buy, even going to far as to offer the ability to have more variety for their morning meals – which so far had only consisted of cold cereal. And fruit had been extremely lacking in their lives…

All in all, it had felt rather surreal.

The most alarming had been after they had dropped off the groceries with Jacobs, that wasn't the end of it.

Oh, no.

Nico had plans apparently.

Which was how Alex somehow found himself sitting on a park bench in the middle of a French city eating ice cream with Nico.

It was a very bizarre sunny June day…

Alex could feel his shoulders slowly creeping up around his ears as the tension of being out in the open started to catch up with him. Several hours was apparently all he could do without second guessing the motives of everyone around him. He was warily eyeing every person that walked near them – and didn't have the benefit of having sunglasses to hide behind like Nico.

After a few long minutes, Nico finally turned toward him. "I take it you prefer less crowded areas?" His voice was low, but the Spanish carried easily.

Alex jerked his head once, eyes tracking a woman and her three children who were rampaging down the sidewalk toward them. _Low threat_.

"We could move to the other side of the park." Nico nodded toward the opposing street, which honestly wasn't much better.

"This is… _fine_."

Nico snorted. "Your definition of fine seems to be very different from mine." He studied Alex for a moment longer before returning to his ice cream. "You know, there was a time I was never sure I'd be able to be on my own in a city again."

Alex stiffened.

"Did anyone ever tell you how I ended up in that cell?"

Alex tracked another businessman down the street, but didn't say anything. He hadn't asked. Wasn't sure if it was something he was supposed to know already or not…

"I was flying civilian, because I have family in Spain, you see. Had a funeral to attend, and then I was supposed to report back to base." Nico had a faraway expression on his face, before he shook himself. "As far as anyone knows, it was just luck of the draw. They wanted someone from the mainland, so they just took an opportune subject." He shook his head slowly. "Could've been anyone really…"

Alex swallowed, the ice cream starting to visibly melt in his hands. _Could've been anyone…_ Just like how they were found. By chance…

None of it added up.

"Listen, I know… I know you've said you're having trouble remembering. It was… it was bad enough living through it, but not knowing… that's probably just as bad." He glanced toward Alex, acting ever so casually. "If you ever want answers, and you think I might have them, ask. I won't… I won't ask questions. Won't tell the others either." He let out a long sigh. "You're a smart kid. Maybe stupid at times, but… your stupidity probably saved both of our lives out there."

There were so many questions he had on the tip of his tongue, but they all caught in Alex's throat. He settled for a sharp nod. This wasn't the time, nor the place. Too open. Too insecure. But the thought… the idea of maybe getting _some_ answers… It was tantalizing. Tempting.

There was the burning fear though that whatever was said aloud would be forgotten just as easily as what he had read. A noticeable blank space in his brain.

They lapsed into a long silence, each lost in their own thoughts, ignorant of the steadily melting ice cream.

Wasn't that what the shrinks had always preached though?

_Talk to someone._

_Confide in someone._

_It'll get better if you just talk about it…_

But it _couldn't_ get better. Not if he couldn't remember.

Alex glanced over at Nico. "Is this an intervention? Did you plan this?"

Nico laughed, a smile crossing his face. "No, we're just killing time so Jacobs can go pick up a package." He nodded toward the ice cream. "Better eat that fast, or you're going to have a mess on your hands."

Literally. Alex started eating the ice cream, still warily watching the people that dared come close. No one of particular interest. He needed to mull over what Nico had said. There was the option… But first he needed to get back somewhere he felt safe.

Surprisingly, that was the safehouse…

* * *

Upon returning to the safehouse that evening, Cameron had given Alex an update on the house rules. He sounded much less frustrated while informing Alex that he was allowed to close his door and didn't have to be supervised inside the house. The out of doors were still off limits though.

So at least _he_ would get some privacy.

There might not be a lot of space in the safe house, but he would be able to make full use of his room.

Nico had tossed him a new USB when he had gone to retire for the night and Alex had been careful to shut, but not lock, his door. It wouldn't do to push the boundaries too far, but… he was going to revel in the bit of privacy. And a new USB meant that there was a possible update from Smithers – as well as whatever coursework had been returned to him by this point. Honestly, that was the lower priority.

Alex waited a good thirty minutes, running through the exercises for his hand, before heading over to his laptop. The others had separated out into their respective duties for the evening and Alex had a pretty good idea that he wouldn't be disturbed. Just in case, he inserted the first USB into the computer and loaded the _Minesweeper_ app.

When the screen loaded, as suspected, the yellow-orange and blue spots were dispersed around the house. It was a little more difficult to read, as he was on the ground floor and couldn't get an accurate read on the upper floor. That said, there were still blue spots semi-randomly dispersed around the range that he could see. It would take a few days to relocate everything, but it gave him something _other_ than coursework to do.

Once again, he had a blue dot near him, but a cursory glance revealed nothing except for his watch.

Alex brushed it aside, and studied the yellow-orange dots for a moment longer. They seemed settled in wherever they were stationed, so he figured it was about time to see if Smithers had come through and given him anything new.

He plugged in the new USB, which once again opened to the standard coursework folders. Sure enough, there was yet another D&T folder, which was once again password protected.

 _kE…_ 3 _… a53… df_

Another note popped up, this one shorter than the previous.

_Hello, my dear boy._

_My sources tell me that you've been a bit ornery these past few days. No doubt you're chafing at the bit. But I was also alerted that you finally cracked the code! Took you long enough. As Jones has been quite restrictive in information dispersion throughout the company, I'm afraid this update gives you little new news. However, I have included updates for two of your apps and several new gadgets. You'll find them at your leisure in the folder._

_The situation of a cellphone for you has no doubt been a bit of a pressing matter, however, the reality is that any commercial device is just too insecure. Jones is not_ allowing _gadgets out, so remember this is all our little secret. As such, I have made modifications to the programming and the new apps include instructions for downloading and using on your music player._

_Use with care!_

_-S_

Alex went and rummaged in his bag and pulled out the neglected music player. He hadn't used it much in the past several weeks, but if it was good enough for Smithers… Well, he wouldn't say no to having access to the apps at his fingertips. Though he would have to be surreptitious about suddenly keeping the music player on him at all times.

It wouldn't do for the more observant members to catch on to anything out of the ordinary.

He clicked through the information, noting that the updated reader had all the new files marked by an asterisk. So at least he wouldn't have to go shuffling through to find what he needed. The reality was that there was very little new information – aside from a report on Blunt's activities. He had apparently officially split from MI6 several months earlier – though Jones had been calling the shots for almost a year now – and had all but gone into hiding.

It was no surprise. He had been the Head of MI6 for quite a number of years, and had quite the number of enemies. Blunt had checked in three times over those months, but hadn't been heard from for nearly two months before his body was found – within 100 miles of his last known location. The circumstances had been suspicious, but the _calling card_ that had been left behind was one that belonged to a group called _Zakolot_ which apparently _meant_ something. Alex made a mental note to see what they wanted and if there were even motivations to go after Blunt.

Other than that though… there wasn't much, as Smithers had warned.

Alex plugged in the music player, and opened the gadgets section. Immediately, an upload processes started, transferring the information form the laptop to the music player. Apparently, Smithers was considering a music player being plugged in as permission…

The original three apps were still present, and as promised, there were several new ones. _Maps, Calculator,_ and _Sudoku_. Which… in all honesty was much more than he was originally expecting. Three _new_ apps, meaning three new things for him to try. Which meant more possibilities if… _when_ he was off on his own.

Smithers coming through after all this time…

 _Maps_ and _Calculator_ were rather self-explanatory. _Maps_ used some fancy GPS system that was very hard to track – because according to Smithers, nothing was 100% non-trackable if it was digital – and _Calculator_ was some sort of add-on to the _Chess_ app that included signal jamming. It was probably for the best that he didn't test that one out in the safehouse. Might alert the others – or send them into an even worse lockdown.

Alex clicked through to the _Sudoku_ app and was greeting with yet another wall of text. _Figured you needed a bit of brain food, old chap. Keep this running in the background, and if anyone gets too close while you're using another app, switch to this one. Everyone needs some mental exercise now and then!_ Alex snorted, of course Smithers would think to give him an actual _game_ to play, to throw anyone else off the trail. A red herring.

A bright green check mark covered the screen of his music player, signaling that it was ready to go. He unplugged it and scrolled through the options. Though there weren't many, it was much more than he had had while he was living on his own. It would be plenty to get him set up. Now he just had to plan…

There were so many variables, so many things he knew he needed to consider. Though his hand was healing, and he was slowly regaining control, there was still the matter of whether he could actually protect himself in a fight… It wasn't something he could exactly test on his own too well, but also knew that riling the SAS unit into attacking him probably wasn't the best of ideas either.

Especially since Nico seemed to be trying to hold out an olive branch.

But then, perhaps that could work in his favor…?

Alex pulled open the file he had started compiling over the past two weeks. All the information and details he had, everything that he remembered. It wasn't much. Snippets here and there, half remembered memories. Pieces and scraps that he wasn't sure _where_ it all fit in. Upon actually looking at it though, it painted a picture he wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with.

For some reason, he had relied on _Zeb_. He had been determined to protect him – because he had appeared innocent. And while there was a part of him that was bitter that Nico hadn't done more, the more he understood the reasoning… the more it made sense. Nico was, first and foremost, a SAS soldier – and their training was intensive and all-consuming. To go against it, especially with the threat that doing so might make things _worse_ … it was incomprehensible.

A rock and a hard place.

And Alex was coming to acknowledge that while he didn't have all the information – didn't have all the memories – _something_ important had happened while they were in captivity. Perhaps – dare he say it? – Jones had been right that a sense of _familiarity_ would be just what he needed. That Nico would somehow be the key to figuring out his memories.

He smirked to himself – he wasn't about to let her know.

So, he started with the basics. A plan. First, he needed to find a way to make sure that he could physically protect himself – exercise, physical activity of some sort, for a start. Second, he needed to figure out what on earth was going on with his memory. Much easier said than done… Third, he needed to gather the needed resources to get away. Which would take a while and lots of careful planning. Fourth… fourth, he would actually have to break away from it all. Go completely off the grid.

Because it seemed that was the only way he was going to survive.

It was a hard thought to process.

He glanced over his list. Physical activity would quite likely be the easiest to initiate, whereas the memories… those were more difficult to uncover. He glanced back over his notes, wondering if there was any connecting piece between the moments of memory loss. It certainly seemed like there was some sort of trigger – but whether that was within the memories themselves or otherwise, he wasn't entirely sure.

He pulled up the reports that had noted his behavior while with the other MI6 appointed guardians. They had already established that someone had been drugging him through his medication at the time – and that _Madam Sargent_ had been particularly forceful about it. He scrolled through the pages, until he came across the heavily redacted hospital in-take report.

It seemed that even Smithers had limits to what he could get his hands on.

The report itself wasn't of much use, except that it identified some of the strange chemicals in his system – not that he had any idea what it meant. For the most part, it seemed that they were speculating not only as to how the chemicals got into him in the first place, but what the ultimate goal was. Though the fire had seemed like a pretty blatant attempt on his life… it was possible that there was another layer.

_'Patient was combative and incoherent, however post-adrenaline high appeared to show crashing like symptoms.'_

First, it was odd to read about himself so clinically. Second… post-adrenaline high?

What he would do to have free access to the internet…

He could feel himself tensing up gain. He took a deep breath and tried to relax.

Calm.

Methodological.

He would figure this out.

Alex scrolled through the limited reports from his guardian. The first few all carried the same theme. Limited clashes during the first few days, erratic behavior from him during the next, and then a meltdown followed by a _crash_. Though no one so much as put into words what set him off, there were vague suspicions of flashbacks being the primary cause of his outbursts.

 _The height of emotion…_ and then _nothing_.

Alex pulled out a notebook and started noting down dates and observations. What others thought they saw. What he remembered of the incident.

It was a mess when he finished, but there was _definitely_ a pattern. High emotions – stress, anxiety, _anger_ – were all reported alongside the places where he had clear breaks in his memory. But was it really _emotion_ that triggered it, or something more basic? Whatever _it_ was.

Though, it didn't make any sense that it still affected him.

There were no more drugs.

He didn't feel out of control like _then_.

Why was it still _happening_?

Alex tapped his pen, but no answers magically came to him. There was no _logical_ reason that he could think of that would cause such… inconsistent memory loss. Why was it only patches of memory and not days on end?

Too suspicious?

He read over his notes once more. _Emotions_. Was it the emotions itself? Or the side effects? High blood pressure. Rapid heart rate. Release of whatever endorphins went along with it… He supposed that was something he could actually start testing. If he could start exercising, he could see if it triggered anything. He just had to leave himself clear evidence of the day's plans, then match it with what he remembered at the end of the day. It would also help to answer what the extent of the memory loss was. Was it everything? Was it selective?

Start simple.

Nico would be receptive. _Right?_

He had seemed welcoming enough during their outing. It wouldn't be too difficult to convince him that it was in everyone's best interest that he got out and burned some energy off…

But if Nico decided to be chatty… they would just have to stay on _safe_ topics. Because if his memory _was_ affected… Something was going to have to change. He couldn't safely go out on his own as it was now. He was too easy a target. He needed to be proactive. Make the changes he could.

Because at this rate… At this rate, he was never going to get away.


	25. We'll Talk...

Sweat dripped down Nico's neck, but he was exhilarated. It had been months since he had completed anything _near_ to the physical training regimen they had kept up at base, so even a quick jog out in the forest was considered pure _bliss_. It was strange to think that he had reached the point of missing it… He glanced over at his running companion, Alex, who seemed lost in thought.

Over a week earlier, when Alex had approached him about getting more exercise, Nico had been suspicious. After all, it had been months and it seemed strange that _all of a sudden,_ he wanted to exercise more. Of course, there was the argument that as his injury healed, perhaps he felt more secure in participating in activities. Alex had also made a very good point about going a bit stir crazy – but it had also made Nico all the more suspicious of ulterior motives.

But, he had taken it in stride and had pitched the idea to Cameron – with the hopes that if they _tried_ working with Alex, he wouldn't try something stupid again. Maybe.

That first week, they had stuck to the yard behind the house – despite the nearby trails in the woods. Cameron was suspicious and wanted a close eye on the situation. Mickey definitely hadn't yet forgiven Alex for his runaway stunt. But with the clear show of cooperation… it had earned him rewards. It was like he was on his best behavior.

From the unit's point of view, that particular weekly update had been perhaps the most optimistic – few signs of nightmares, more consistent sleep schedule, and no clear chafing at confinement. _Cooperation_. The response to the update had been less enthusiastic. Whoever it was that was calling the shots warned them to keep a close eye on Alex.

Nothing happened though.

Day after day passed and nothing in Alex's behavior was suspect.

And since it really didn't do to keep punishing him – and thereby Nico – with confinement to the yard, once Mickey and Jacobs had scouted out the woods to their hearts content, Cameron gave the go ahead. With a very strict set of trails to follow and occasional check points.

It had all gone off without a hitch.

The only strange part was that despite following the same route every day – for nearly a week now – Alex never led. Which led to a bit of an awkward arrangement, since Nico was supposed to keep an eye on him. Harder to do from in front. But that was what Alex wanted and there hadn't been any _mishaps_ , so…

Nico veered with the trail, glancing back once again to make sure that Alex was still on his trail.

It also would've been easier with Alex in front to set the pace. After all, _he_ was a teenager, and Nico was SAS trained. They likely had quite different paces… and Nico was constantly guessing as to what would be too fast or too slow. But no matter what, Alex always insisted that he would follow.

The halfway check point was in sight, and Nico put on a burst of speed to reach it. Alex didn't lag in the slightest, keeping at Nico's heels. Though he did nearly bowl him over once they reached the check point. There was water waiting for them there – left by Jacobs who had drawn the short straw to setup the checkpoint that morning. Nico tossed a bottle toward Alex, who caught it without hardly looking. Nico stared in surprise, noting which hand Alex caught it with.

"It's getting better, I see." He nodded toward the braced arm. "You managed that pretty well."

Alex blinked down in surprise, not seeming to understand what Nico meant. "Huh?"

"Your arm." Nico paced the small clearing, trying to keep his muscles loose. "A couple months ago you couldn't grip anything very well."

"Oh." Alex nodded his head, still not seeming completely present in the conversation. "Yeah, better."

Nico paused and tilted his head. This was the only time Alex was _off_. He wasn't sure what it was, but whenever they went running it was just like… Alex checked out. Perhaps he just got too far into the zone. Alex was still there, obviously, but he wasn't as responsive. Wasn't as… _him_. It was odd.

Alex fiddled at the water bottle, gazing off in the distance.

"You ready then?" Nico asked.

Alex blinked, before nodding. He glanced around the clearing, still holding the bottle awkwardly.

Nico raised an eyebrow, before putting his water bottle back in the carrying case. He nudged the sensor someone – Jacobs, most likely – had hidden beside the tree days earlier, and then dropped the bottle next to it. Someone would pick it up later. Alex hesitantly – _why?_ – dropped his water bottle alongside it. As if he wasn't sure what came next.

They had been doing the exact same thing for days… but he didn't seem to catch on.

But he was _smart_.

It didn't make any sense.

Nico held his tongue though. At the beginning of all this, Alex had made it clear that no _important_ discussions were to occur until _after_ the exercising.

As they set off again, Nico wondered what was considered _important_ …

* * *

_Flinch._

_Smack._

_Crash._

_Pain._

_Bleeding red. Blue. Yellow._

_Twisting fire tore up his shoulders, each jolt knocking._

_He couldn't see. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't hear._

_Falling._

_Falling._

_Falling._

_"You should've helped." The voice broke, fragile. Harsh. Grating. Accusing. "Why didn't you help me?"_

_Nico tried to breathe. To draw in air. To respond._

_"You left me. Left me. And now look!" The figure screamed. Agony. Pain. Desperation._

_"No… I didn't…" He had tried to help. Hadn't he? Gave him food. Water._

_"You should be_ dead _!"_

Nico jerked awake, heart pounding in his chest. He gasped for breath for a few long moments, unsure of where _exactly_ he was. For one horrifying moment, the stone walls felt like they were closing in around him. Like he was _there_. But _there_ was no longer…

They were out. They were safe. They were _free_.

Well… free being debatable.

But not captives.

Everything felt too oppressive. He threw the covers off, the cold from the dream contrasting with the warmth of the summer evening. He ran a tired hand over his face as he slowly reoriented to the appropriate time and place.

Safe house.

France.

July.

Everyone safe and accounted for.

He checked his watch. _2:45 am_. Much too early to be awake, especially considering he didn't have a shift on duty until that evening. Realistically, he needed to sleep if he had any hope of making it all the way through the shift. The reality though was that he wasn't going to be falling back asleep any time soon.

_It was only a nightmare._

That didn't mean his heart wasn't still fluttering in his chest though.

Although the nightmares were infrequent and far between, the disorientation they left him with was… well… _disorienting_. Made him question things he had and hadn't said. Had and hadn't done.

His therapist had told him that nightmares were, unfortunately, a natural occurrence following his experiences. And that reorienting to time and place may help with the more _unrealistic_ parts. They hadn't had much advice for the reality of the memories though…

He cast a glance to the other side of the room where, somehow, Mickey was still sleeping. Since he wasn't going to get any more sleep, he quietly slipped out of the room – knocked a quiet signal on the surveillance room door – and headed down to the living room.

The last package arrival had brought new reading materials for them – including some very poorly written novels that had zero educational value. It was exactly what he needed.

* * *

An absolutely _tortured_ scream had Nico shooting out of his seat and down the hall, before he really even registered what had happened.

He wasn't the only one having nightmares that night.

The decrease had apparently been a false sense of security.

Nico didn't even hesitate at the door, but pushed right through. The sight that greeted him wasn't exactly what he had been expecting. After all, the previous times Alex hadn't been _awake_ yet. He had still been gripped in whatever terrors he saw in his mind. Nor had he been bleeding from his head…

Alex stared at him with wide unfocused eyes, blood dripping down half his face, all the while gripping at his arm – his _good_ arm – and muttering anxiously to himself.

_Was the scream due to the injury? Or did it come before?_

Nico approached cautiously. He knew Alex tended to lash out in the aftermath, but he wasn't entirely sure what to expect when he was already _awake_. "Alex…"

"Get it out," Alex's nails dug further into his wrist, a surprising amount of strength visible in his injured hand. The worrying part was the continued _bleeding_ from his head. "Get it out! Gotta get it out."

"Hey…" Nico crept closer, trying to get a better look at the head injury. Medic, he was not, but head wounds bled _a lot_. And there were always worries about concussions, which really… that was the last thing they needed. "Your head's not looking so great right now…"

Alex finally seemed to focus on him, registering his presence. "Zeb… _Zeb…_ you gotta help." He pleaded.

Nico startled at the name. Aside from their one conversation about it weeks ago, Alex had never mentioned it.

"Get it out. Make it stop." He looked down at his hands, seeming to stare at nothing in particular, before clawing viciously at his wrist. "It's there. It's there."

"Woah, woah, woah." Nico grabbed at his hands, but Alex had already managed to leave dark scratches on his arm. His good arm. "What is?"

"It's there!" Alex struggled against the grip, becoming more and more agitated. "Get it out! Make it stop."

"What's there? Alex!" Nico shouted trying to get his attention, anything to make him stop. He was _strong_. "What is it? What's there?"

Alex stared at him with wide eyes, freezing in place. " _They_ did it."

 _Who_ did _what_? Nico tried to pin his arms down, but… there was the worry that a wrong grip might _damage_ his wrist.

"Left it… can't think…" Alex pulled away, hard. He succeeded in getting away, but only managed to slam his back against the bedframe. "Get. It. Out."

What was _it_?

" _Their_ fault…" Alex peered down at his wrist, voice trailing off. He blinked slowly, head falling down to his chest. His breathing evened out and his shoulders visibly relaxed.

_Over?_

He thought _his_ nightmare had bothered him.

What was Alex going on about?

Nico crept forward once again, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Alex…?"

"Don't feel so good…" He mumbled into his chest. Alex didn't say or move for a long moment, before suddenly surging to his feet. He didn't make it very far, stumbling to his knees by the waste bin, and proceeded to retch up his dinner.

Nico felt shaky just watching him. What had just happened?

A flash of light in the doorway caught Nico's attention and he saw Cameron standing there. Waiting. Who knew how long he had been there?

The raised eyebrow spoke volumes. _Need anything?_

Nico glanced at Alex, who had stopped throwing up but looked entirely miserable. "Can you get a washcloth?" He surveyed what he could see of the head wound and wondered if Alex would let someone else nearby. He seemed – oddly – calmer now. "And maybe get Jacobs down here."

Cameron nodded and disappeared.

Nico crouched down beside Alex, studying his face. There were equal parts dried blood and fresh blood. "Still nauseous?"

"No…" Alex blinked heavily. He seemed completely at odds with how he had acted only minutes earlier. "'m head hurts."

"Yeah, I would suspect so. You've got quite a cut on your forehead."

A confused expression crossed Alex's face, his hand reaching up to touch it. Nico stopped him before he was halfway there.

"Let's not. Do you feel like sitting up on your bed, instead of the floor?"

Alex jerked his head, rewarding himself with a grimace of pain. He got up, Nico giving him a supporting hand under his elbow, and settled back on the bed. He picked at the drying blood on his shirt, noticing it for the first time. "Huh."

Nico knew the brain did strange things, but he found it hard reconcile the Alex he had had all but screaming at him only minutes earlier, with this… _docile_ one.

Jacobs came into the room, pausing only to turn on the desk lamp, before setting his things down on the bed. It seemed he wasn't going to wait to be invited in; taking Alex's current condition as rights to bulldoze over any opinion Alex had. He surveyed Alex with a clinical eye. "I don't care if you want me here or not. We're getting you cleaned up. You look like a horror scene."

Alex gave them a weak smile, but was otherwise silent as they cleaned him up and stopped the bleeding. The result was a small, but significant cut closed with butterfly bandages, with visible bruising around the edges. Though he looked much better without the blood covering his features. The shirt was another issue, but Nico had a feeling that they weren't going to win that battle. Alex was always _extremely_ private.

Jacobs produced a penlight from somewhere and shone it in Alex's eyes. Alex flinched away from it, but Jacobs seemed to take that as a good sign. "Any nausea, dizziness, the like?"

"No…" Alex glanced guiltily toward the waste bin. "Only… right after. Now… no."

"Headache?"

"Yeah…" Alex sighed, leaning his head back carefully. "But it's not so bad."

Nico was strongly reminded of the first time he had met Alex. The, _I've had worse_ , had rung in his ears for days. The idea that whatever current pain was insignificant compared to what he had experienced before. Which… to be fair, he _had_ had his fingers broken. But it meant that anything else, in comparison, was diminished. All because it wasn't the _worst_ he had ever had.

"Well, I'll give you some paracetamol—"

"No!" Alex learned back suddenly, as if to jump away at the very thought.

Jacobs held up his hands and backed away. "All right. I won't force you. But… you knocked your head pretty hard. It's not just going to stop hurting in a couple hours, if I don't miss my guess." He cast a glance around the room, as if looking for something. "Just know, paracetamol only. Nothing else. In case you decide you do want something."

Alex let out a long sigh. "Yeah… I know…" He cast a side-eyed glance at Jacobs. "Can I sleep now?"

Jacobs frowned, but stood up anyway. "I want you to drink some water. If you can manage that, you can sleep. You don't seem to have a concussion, so sleep should be fine."

"Don't have a concussion…" Alex grumbled, "Could've told you that."

Nico snorted, but it brought Alex's attention back to him.

Alex fiddled at the quilt's edge for a moment. "What… what happened?" He asked hesitantly.

Nico blinked, not expecting the question. Surely Alex knew… "You… were having a nightmare, I suppose. And somehow, you managed to hit your head." The only real guess there was that he had managed to both roll off the bed _and_ hit his head on the bedside table.

Alex shook his head, squinting at him. "No, I mean…" He trailed off. "Later. We'll talk later." And if that didn't sound ominous, Nico wasn't sure what did.

He was kept from replying as Jacobs came back with the water. Once Alex had managed to drink it down, he laid down and made to go to sleep. Nico wondered if he would actually manage… It was obvious though that no more questions were going to be asked – or answered – for the time being.

Jacobs all but nudged him out of the room, shutting the door, and then proceeded to all but drag Nico into the kitchen. "He should be fine, but if you notice anything out of the ordinary, we need to keep an eye on it."

Nico raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

Jacobs shrugged. "He's the most comfortable around you. You've had your little buddy runs and whatnot. You know him the best."

Nico rolled his eyes. _Buddy runs_. More like runs in silence for all that they conversed. But that had been Alex's wish.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, looks worse than it is." Jacobs waved his hand. "He should be fine, just might be grumpy – _grumpier than usual?_ – if he doesn't take anything for the headache. I think he's got a stash, so, maybe not. And it'll be a couple days before I let him out to exercise again."

Nico nodded. It all made sense. Keep him safe. Keep him whole. And it was only for a couple of days. He likely wouldn't be in any state to _want_ to go out running, but then… stranger things had happened in the past. He was a teenager, after all.

Jacobs clapped him on the shoulder. "Welcome to the wonderful world of parenting."

Nico snorted. _Parenting_. Definitely not his cup of tea.

_We'll talk later…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Predictions?


	26. ...Later

Alex winced, prodding at his forehead once again, and stared at his reflection in the mirror. The cut wasn't _too_ bad, but the bruising around the edges made it look like he had gone up against someone and come off the worse for it. Of course, adding to the entire aesthetic was how long and shaggy his hair had gotten over the past several months. It was probably pushing six months without a trim and… it was showing.

For the most part, the throbbing had toned down over the past day, but that was at least partially due to his taking paracetamol. He hadn't dared take any from Jacobs, not for risk of possible contamination. Not while he was in the midst of his own carefully controlled experiments. He wasn't about to take any medications from _anyone_. Not in the near future. But he had his own – _safe_ – stash, and that had been enough to take off the edge.

With his mind starting to clear, the oddity of the entire experience started to settle in. Over the past few weeks, he had taken copious notes on his daily habits and basically taken up journaling. He kept notes about every single thing he could think of as being particularly important. If there was a gap, he didn't worry about it, just made note and moved on.

His hand had hated him for it, but he supposed it was one way of making sure he did his exercises as prescribed.

The gaps in memory however, were worrying. Not all days had gaps, yet there were usually specific circumstances that he _knew_ he had been doing things but didn't remember. Most notably was the exercise pattern – the first week, he had kept track perfectly. No gaps noted related to that. It had gone so well that he had started to doubt his initial suspicions.

But the following week, they had switched things up. The exercise became more taxing, more energetic, more adrenaline in his system. And then the gaps started to become more unpredictable. Here and there, bits and pieces – most likely including innocent conversation and moments – were just missing. And the only reason he knew they were missing was because he had _made note_ beforehand that an event was going to occur.

Then, the nightmare.

And whether it was a nightmare or not, Alex wasn't going to argue. Nightmare. Night terror. _Memory_. It was all the same as far as his brain was concerned. He suspected that there was a gap between his nightmare and when Jacobs had come in – though admittedly the first real recollection he had was of leaning over the waste bin throwing up.

Which meant that Nico knew _something_.

And now he needed to confront him.

To be completely honest, Alex wasn't quite sure how to do that.

They had had their time together outside and on the trails – but that wasn't exactly a good place to have a conversation, especially considering that Alex figured he had a statistically higher likelihood of _forgetting_ whatever they talked about after the fact. No… this was something that needed to happen in a controlled situation, where there was no chance any outside factors could impact his memory.

Alex poked at his forehead once more, wondering if it was better enough to really be contemplating this.

It wasn't _that_ bad…

He sighed and set off to search for Nico.

* * *

The search hadn't been the difficult part. It was the convincing Nico to come with him, _without_ raising the suspicions of the others that had been difficult. Especially since Jacobs still hadn't given him the all clear – and likely wouldn't for another day or so. Alex understood, but it was annoying nonetheless.

Once he had Nico in the privacy of his own room though… Alex wasn't entirely sure _where_ he was supposed to start. Nico definitely didn't need to know his entire backstory, but some of it… would no doubt be helpful. And of course, the more important bits were that he was still _missing_ key pieces of information – and there _had to be_ something that was preventing it.

Something that was still messing with him.

Nico was patient though, fixing him only with an assessing stare. As if he had been waiting for this…

Which, of course he had. Alex shook his head. He _had_ told Nico that they would talk later. He just hadn't entirely considered how soon later would be.

"I have some questions… and I'll… I'll answer some of yours as well." Alex swallowed nervously. "I just need to know these answers first. Before I can do that."

Nico regarded him, but didn't say anything. Alex took that as permission to ask.

Alex thought about his phrasing carefully, not wanting to overplay his hand too much. "What did you hear yesterday before Jacobs came in?" It was vague enough that if _nothing_ had happened, it could just be glossed over – and Alex would recalibrate. If _something_ had happened then…

Nico settled back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was in the living room. You screamed… and I found you on the floor." He hesitated, but didn't say anything more.

That meant there was some sort of gap. Throwing up was the first thing he remembered… "And?"

"And…?" Nico raised an eyebrow at him. "You were there, weren't you?"

Alex swallowed, not backing down. "Just… I need to know how much you know." _What_ you know.

"You… you were obviously at the end of a nightmare. It's hard sometimes figuring out what is reality."

Alex clenched his teeth in annoyance, before letting out a long breath. Trying to send all the tension with it. _Not the time_. He needed to stay calm and in control. "What. Did I. Say?"

"Well… to be honest, I didn't understand most of it."

Alex glared at him.

"You were telling me to ' _Get it out_.' Whatever _it_ is." He nodded toward Alex. "And you would've gladly taken a chunk out of your arm if I hadn't stopped you."

Alex blinked. His arm. He could almost _feel_ a phantom pain in his good wrist. There _had_ been marks there the day before. But that… didn't make much sense.

What was _it_?

And why was _that_ what he had decided to freak out about following the nightmare?

"You wanted it to stop," Nico murmured. "I don't know what it was, but kid…"

Alex bristled. "I'm not a _kid_."

Nico laughed. "You might be a teenager, but you're still more than ten years my junior. Therefore, you're still a _kid_." He sobered, looking serious. "And you really shouldn't be dealing with all of this."

Alex shrugged. He had been dealing with this for far longer than he should have, but that was his reality. It wasn't exactly going to change based on what should and shouldn't have happened. This all raised questions though. Those few words indicated a _very different_ topic to his nightmares than previously. Before all of this. Which meant something had changed. "What about… what about the other nightmares. Did you hear anything then?"

Nico looked confused. "Hear anything?"

Alex ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Or noticed anything." There had to be an explanation. Something hidden in the nightmares, because that was the only time his brain was apparently remembering _anything_. "Or… I don't know, anything else strange?"

Nico leaned forward. "You're… not making much sense. What do you mean, _strange_?"

Alex jumped up and started pacing. What could he say? What could he safely tell him? Everything? Anything?

The nightmares had to be linked somehow.

The exercise experiment had been enough to prove to himself that any time his heart got pumping, or his blood pressure raised, or _whatever_ it was… it triggered a loss of memory. And something in his nightmares did the exact same thing – with the exception that _someone else_ had noticed something off. It raised his blood pressure, got his heart rate up – but for a small fraction of time, he _remembered_ whatever it was that terrified his brain enough to combat whatever it was that was fracturing his memory.

Then there was Nico… There were so many little details that even Alex didn't know. He didn't know how this all fit together. He didn't know _what_ was able to still affect him now. _Conditioning? Mental torture?_ Plausible options, but also seemed to be in the more sci-fi realm rather than reality.

Could he _trust_ Nico to not brush him off? To not immediately think he was crazy?

But then… maybe someone else would see.

He wasn't going crazy.

It was impossible that there wasn't something else going on.

"What are you getting at?" Nico asked.

Alex paused mid-step and just stared at him. Stared long and hard. This was the man who _apparently_ had tried to help him – without even knowing anything about him. Though at one point that had been a reason for mistrust, now… it meant he was willing to not only follow the rules, but think outside of his own actions.

_Maybe…_

"I don't remember anything," Alex blurted out. "Not after the nightmares – there's just a blank space for however long it takes me to come out of it. All I know is something happened, and I'm missing it." Alex spun around and continued his pacing. "And it's not just that, not just there. Whenever _something_ happens, I forget. It's not just memory loss, about things that have already happened." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It wouldn't do to lose this conversation as well. "It's still happening."

Alex flopped down on his bed, trying almost forcefully to relax. He couldn't get worked up because that was one of the signs. It was always correlated.

_Correlation does not imply causation_.

He just… had to keep himself under control.

He could do this.

"Alright." Nico was surprisingly open. He didn't look judgmental or ready to call Alex crazy for making up stories. "What else have you noticed? I'm sure you're not basing this off just a couple observations, so what else?"

Alex stared at him.

He believed him that easily?

No platitudes that surely, he was just _imagining_ it.

That no one truly remembered their nightmares, after all.

"Well… there's a pattern." He hesitated, once again wondered just _how much_ he should reveal. "Like… not remembering much from the kidnapping and whatnot… those are just always explained away as being too closely related to trauma. But… after that, with the guardians, there were still blank spaces. And they made note of that in their reports."

"Wait," Nico held up his hand. "Hold up. Do you have information that we don't? Because there were never any reports from previous guardians."

Alex blanched. "Maybe…" _Overplayed, once again._

Nico peered at him, before settling back in his seat. "And you've determined that the information held within there is of limited value to us. Correct?"

Alex hesitantly nodded.

"Carry on, then."

_No, questions?_ "Well… they thought they had figured out the memory issues." _And the behavior issues…_ "The meds I was taking then were tampered with. It was supposed to stop after I got off the meds. But it hasn't." Alex licked his lips nervously. "There have been blank spaces within the past couple of months, and I only know that because I started keeping track. I tried to figure out what I already knew and… then just started _testing_ things. I'm sure there's more from earlier, but I just… I don't know what I've missed because I _don't remember_ it."

Nico leaned forward, studying him curiously. "What's an example of something you've noticed? Aside from after the nightmare."

Alex shrugged. "The more inane ones have been while we're out running. I've consistently lost time part way through. The more disturbing ones… I can remember parts of conversations, but not the endings. There have been things mentioned in reports back to MI6 that I… don't remember occurring." And he was deciding to trust them enough that they weren't just making things up.

"How—" Nico shook his head. "You know what, I'm not going to ask. You can keep that secret. But the running thing… You know that some people just get into the zone while working out, right? You're positive it's not that?"

"It's different." Alex insisted. Getting into the zone didn't mean that he suddenly had no memory whatsoever of what had occurred.

"Okay, okay." Nico lapsed into a silence, clearly thinking. "You mentioned on your second day here that you were having issues with your memory. Had what looked like flashbacks too. But… you're not aware that you let that slip, are you?"

Alex stared at him. "What?" He had _told_ them about the memory problems? _That_ early? There was no reason he could possibly think of where that would make sense. He didn't even trust _Nico_ on the second day.

"We sat you down to give you rules," Nico explained, "Then you got all upset about the guardianship thing. Which, on hindsight, makes a whole lot more sense if you were suspicious of _me_. There were what looked to be flashbacks, and then you went and hid in your room. Everything seemed perfectly normal the next day, so that little bit never went in the official report."

No memory.

He remembered being perplexed by the lack of rules from the get go.

He remembered wondering just who his guardian was – who had been assigned that task – for days. But apparently, he had _known_ all along.

That was disturbing.

Nico sat up straight suddenly. "What do you remember of your last counseling appointment?"

"What?"

"What do you remember?"

Alex's brow furrowed. It had been fairly uneventful. He hadn't said much… The counselor had been annoying as usual, sprouting off things he didn't really understand… And then… _nothing_. He had been in the hall with Jacobs, waiting for Nico, who had not seemed happy at the end. "What… happened?"

"I'm… not entirely sure. Something he said set you off, and you came storming out of there. Angry." Nico scowled. "I didn't much care for his approach, which is why you never went back."

_Anger_.

High emotion.

A strong reaction.

It fit the pattern.

Though what exactly the pattern was, was a little unclear…

But… _why_?

Why now?

The tampered meds were gone.

It didn't make _sense_.

Nico's eyes widened, staring at Alex with renewed interest. "You think it could be tied with emotions… but _how_? And why, I suppose."

Alex grimaced. _Why,_ was the biggest question of them all. Though he remembered splintered fragments of what had occurred with his guardians, there was a general sense of danger. _Something_ had happened during that time – someone or something – and he had reacted. There were reasons why he had ended up in his house – not his apartment. And he knew exactly zero reasons why.

No one had tried to explain that one to him.

Jones had just shipped him off to a new place.

But it had meant that someone was still actively coming for him. Months later.

_Reformed SCORPIA._

But that… that had been a bust.

The file had said as much. They had disappeared, vanished, as soon as the SAS had appeared to rescue them.

And the SAS had had no idea they were even going to rescue anyone.

Which meant…

Was it _all_ a set up?

Was there someone pulling all the strings to make sure that each piece fell into the right spot?

What was and wasn't a lie then?

But… _why_?

It all tied back to the initial kidnapping. There were no blank spots in his memory before then. Since that day in January, he had inconsistent memories – with only a few spots of clarity here and there.

How did he know that Nico was the good guy?

How did he know that he could trust _anyone_ at this rate?

It all went back to the beginning.

"And you're on no more medications?" Nico broke through his thoughts.

Alex shook his head.

It was Nico's turn to stand up and start pacing. "But they were definitely tampered with?"

Alex shrugged. "Spent a week with withdrawals. I'd say so."

"And you think this is all, somehow, connected to the kidnapping in the first place."

Alex blinked. "Yes."

He stopped and peered at Alex. "It wasn't a random kidnapping. It was personal. So why?"

Alex looked away. _That_ was the part he wasn't comfortable getting in to. He wasn't ready to uncover the can of worms that was his arguable status as a teenage spy that happened to bring down terrorists. _All at the cost of others…_ And while revenge made sense… they were also after something.

Nico narrowed his eyes at him, but didn't press. "Let's say it is all connected. But now you know for sure that medications aren't the cause. That means there's something else they did to you, to do this."

And wasn't that the clincher. _Something else._

" _Get it out_ ," Nico said. "That's what you told me yesterday. Do you think you're remembering more in the immediate aftermath of the nightmares and then forgetting?"

Alex shrugged. "Seems likely." After all, most of his nightmares in the past had had ties to reality. Not one hundred percent memory, but definitely based in memory. It seemed logical to think that that pattern was holding constant. He took another deep breath, trying to relax. Though relax was really the very last thing he wanted to do. He wanted to rage and scream. Someone had decided that taking his memories was the logical solution – and had gone so far to somehow tie his emotional responses into it.

But how?

"Well… if that's true…" Nico spoke slowly, looking at him cautiously. "Then why… why do you seem to go after your right arm? Because that… that happened with an earlier nightmare."

Alex blinked and looked down. His _right arm_? There was a pattern? But he had always focused on his _left_ hand. That was the one they had injured, messed up, _destroyed_. If it was tied somehow with his memories though… what did that mean? Aside from aching from overuse – which was to be expected when it had suddenly become the dominant hand – he hadn't noticed anything _off_ with it.

Unless…

Alex all but jumped up from his bed and went searching on the desk.

He _had_ seen something.

But had brushed it off.

Thought it was normal.

And if he was wrong… well… then they were no further than they were already.

But if he was right…

It would change _everything_.

Under a pile of papers, Alex finally found what he was looking for. He brandished the music player like it was the ultimate key. Nico just regarded him with skepticism.

Of course, this would mean giving up some of his secrets, but… "You can't tell anyone about this. Someone… _very important_ gave this to me, to give me some… peace of mind." _Right_ … Because how else could he explain Smithers. "If the wrong person—" _Jones_. "—finds out about this… It won't go over well." Because if Jones knew, then it was entirely possible that a mole or someone else knew as well. And then the entire point of secrecy was a moot point.

"Alright…" Nico crossed his arms. "But if I think it's any danger to you, I reserve the right to pester you about it until… well… you know…"

Alex rolled his eyes and swiped in the pattern. He opened the Minesweeper app and entered the code he had set. Though the hidden display was considerably smaller on the music player, the standard information was still available. The nearest two yellow-orange dots were clearly him and Nico, with the others visible only if the view on the screen was scrolled. There were several blue dots – as expected. And like the other times, there was a blue dot that was nearly superimposed on him.

_That_ was what Alex was suspicious of.

"Do you have a watch?" Alex asked.

Nico raised an eyebrow. "No… But I can go—"

Alex fumbled at his watch. To be honest, he hadn't really taken it off unless he had to in the past several months. For weeks it was more trouble than it was worth. Now though, his left hand was more maneuverable and actually did what he wanted it to do. "Here. Hold this." He all but shoved the watch at Nico, while still staring down at the screen. "Can you… just go to the other side of the room."

Nico regarded him for a long moment, but seemed to humor him, walking to the other side of the room. "And?"

"It didn't move," Alex breathed. The blue dot was stubbornly right next to him, in addition to the one that had appeared with Nico.

There shouldn't have been one still with him.

Alex moved – and his movement, with both the yellow-orange and blue spot moved with him. Could it be the music player?

" _What_ are you doing?"

Alex startled and stared at Nico. He would _have_ to show him now. "I have… a proximity sensor. It… tells me the location of people and electronics." And walls, technically. "Blue for electronics. Here." He shoved the player at Nico, then crossed back to the other side of the room, as far away from any other known locations of electronics or sensors as possible. "The other orange dot is me. Does it still have a blue spot on it?"

Nico squinted down at the device, turning it over for a moment to look at it, then glanced back at Alex. "How do you—" He shook himself. "Um… yes. Still there."

"Damn it." Still there. That meant… he stared down at his arm in horror. Though whatever it was could theoretically be anywhere in his body – he was fairly sure there was nothing in his clothes, but he wasn't about to complete disrobe in front of Nico – the right arm seemed the most suspect. " _They_ put something _in_ me?"

Nico approached hesitantly. "You realize you may be jumping to conclusions, right?" He held up his hand to stop Alex's protest. "Just… don't overreact. We've got to… just figure out a way to find out for sure."

Alex gaped at him.

He would believe so easily?

Alex was so used to having to _fight_ to get someone to believe him.

None of his previous guardians had paid any mind to him slowly _losing_ his mind.

What made Nico different?

"The others are going to need to know something. And I… I take it you probably don't want this getting back to MI6?"

Alex shook his head vehemently. The last thing he needed was MI6 inadvertently passing on information to whoever was after him. They had moles and even if they didn't know exactly where to find him – unless there was a _tracker_ in whatever this was as well – knowing that he was on to them would be bad enough.

"Alright, let's just…" Nico sat down and patted the edge of the bed. "Take me through everything you've got. We can figure out what we need them to know – they'll trust my judgement – and from there, we can work confirm whether there's anything to be worried about."

The knowledge that he had someone on his side… it made Alex seriously question his plans to get away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens! I do enjoy reading your thoughts and predictions. Just FYI, November is NaNoWriMo, which I will be participating in (and hopefully will be able to use to finish this story off because I'm a rebel, and not get distracted by new stories...). Depending on how that goes, you may get a few more updates next month. Don't hold me to it, but I will do my best.


	27. Plotting

The kitchen had turned into a planning room.

Mickey and Cameron were clearly suspicious of his motives, whereas Alex had somehow gained both Nico and Jacobs on his side.

It was probably the biggest show of teamwork they had had in months.

Nico had seemed quite surprised by the wealth of information Alex had gathered, and thankfully, hadn't pressed too much on the origin. Alex was willing to share some of what he knew, but he also wasn't ready to give up Smithers as his informant. If they knew about _all_ the information he had, they might either take it from him – which he wouldn't allow – or tell the wrong person at MI6.

Which would mess everything up.

Nico had been quick to process the information and then determine that it was best to rope Jacobs in first. Since Jacobs had been the friendliest of the bunch since Alex's little stunt… it had seemed for the best. Nico had also insisted that if they _did_ find something, it would likely be up to Jacobs to figure out how to get it out since he was the resident medic.

Both had been willing to overlook the MI6 aspect – to continue to operate without MI6's knowledge, unless absolutely necessary. Cameron and Mickey were… less receptive to this request.

Hence, the more or less standoff in the kitchen.

"Our resources are so limited. We can't just…" Cameron waved his hand at the room. "Decide to up and do something without _orders._ " He jabbed his finger in Jacobs direction. "And I can't see why _you_ are siding with them!"

Really, the yelling was a little over the top.

Jacobs sighed. "As I've _said_ , they've both raised several good points. First, Alex has clearly been losing memories – I've seen it, you've seen it, we've all seen it. That first day when he blew up about the guardianship stuff – never mentioned again outside of that room." He held up his hand to cut Cameron off. "And if you say anything about making things up, what does he have to gain from this?"

Cameron opened and shut his mouth, but didn't say anything.

Alex nodded in agreement and received a glare for it. It was true though. He could think of no scenario where _pretending_ there was something messing with his memories would be for his benefit. Or where getting them to do something outside of MI6 jurisdiction would gain him any sort of advantage – unless he somehow managed to twist that into making them seen as unfit guardians, but that really wouldn't solve anything and would just result in a worse placement… As it was, he was exposing a weakness.

"Secondly," Jacobs carried on, "I know _you've_ been less than happy with the information MI6 has been giving us. It's been practical radio silence for the last week, and even before that, their information has been contradictory. We've _all_ suspected that there's more going on. And Alex… apparently doesn't trust them enough to not botch this up."

And wasn't that the truth? All the intel he had suggested that partnering with MI6 was just asking for difficulties. They appeared to be struggling enough with ensuring that their information wasn't being leaked to the very groups they were after. If there _was_ something, and the wrong person caught wind, whoever it was might redouble their efforts to get their hands back on him. What that meant in the long run… he wasn't sure. But it was surely nothing good.

The room lapsed into silence and Alex scowled at the two troublesome occupants. "I _could_ do this on my own without you lot." It would just require moving quite a few of his plans up. And be extremely logistically complex…

Mickey scoffed.

"I could!" Alex's scowl intensified. "You don't know what I've had to do the past couple of years just to survive." And it was going to stay that way. "I only got thrown here because of _this_." He waved his braced hand around in emphasis. "But I thought I'd do the courtesy of _asking_ for help once more in my life."

He started to stand up, but Nico pushed him back down in his chair. "No need for that."

Alex clenched his fists, before letting out a long breath. They had been over this. _Not_ the time to get worked up.

Nico turned back to the conversation at large. "Listen, I know you're skeptical, but… this is bigger than any of us could imagine." He cast a wary glance at Alex, likely thinking of the few things Alex had dared to share with him. The guardians. The poisoning. "I know that this is a lot, but… Look, if there's nothing there – that we can find – we'll report back. To this… _Jones_ person. Okay?" He glanced between everyone, but Alex couldn't help but scowl more at the idea.

Nico had latched onto the name, but clearly had _no idea_ who she was. And it was going to stay that way. " _I'll_ talk to her. This can't go through the regular channels. If someone else catches wind of it…" Alex couldn't hold back the shudder. He _knew_ there was a mole somewhere in MI6. Someone feeding information to the enemy. MI6 _knew_ there was a mole, but they hadn't found them yet. "I don't want that to happen. If _they_ find out, it's over."

Because no matter if it took days or weeks… Alex had no doubt that _someone_ would come hunt him down.

Cameron peered at him. "And just who are these _they_ people? Do you actually know who's after you?"

Alex hesitated. He hadn't intended to get into this line of questioning, but… "I know who it isn't…" He glanced away, purposefully not making eye contact. He had glossed over this for Nico as well. "There are several groups that have… had issues with me in the past, but are no longer… operational. You may have heard of SCORPIA?"

There was a shocked inhale from the others – minus Nico who had heard the bare bones already. Likely similar thoughts were going through all of their heads – what could SCORPIA _possibly_ have against a teenager? He wasn't going to answer that…

"SCORPIA was taken out nearly a year ago." It had been a _year_. Alex found that incredibly hard to believe. "But it seems that some of the members survived, as they formed a new group, Reformed SCORPIA. This was the group responsible for the kidnapping." _As far as Smithers' sources could tell._ "However, Reformed SCORPIA was disbanded in March, with the known members either dead or with another group. You'll note however, that someone tried to kill me in April."

"A puppet organization," Mickey breathed.

Alex blinked and stared at him. "I suppose." He hadn't considered it that way before. Someone else was calling the shots, but had had a hand in Reformed SCORPIA and whatever the more recent group titled themselves that tried to take him out. Alex shook himself out of his thoughts. "So, there are several organizations that have been tied back to me, but they've all vanished within the last several months. One of the few times I saw Jones, I… informed her that I knew of a mole within the agency." Alex glanced down at his hands. "I… I don't know how. But I knew it."

He remembered telling her, remembered putting the pieces together, but not… not of her reaction. It was uncomfortable. If she had known, what did that mean? If she hadn't known, what did _that_ mean?

"Alright. We'll try this." Cameron still looked suspicious, but grudgingly accepting. "But if this backfires… if this blows our cover, you're going to be the one explaining it to this Jones lady."

Alex tried to not let the relief show in his body. _They believed him_.

The reality was, if it backfired, it would be the end for all of them. Alex knew they didn't quite grasp that, but… they didn't have all the pieces.

"So, what do we need to do?" Cameron asked.

"Basics, we need to find out _if_ there's anything, where it is, and remove it." Jacobs ticked it off on his fingers. "Pretty simple."

_Simple_. Alex couldn't hold back a snort. This would be anything but simple.

Cameron shot him an annoyed glance. "Confirmation first, then. What do we know?"

Jacobs cautiously glanced in Alex's direction. They had already covered what would need to be explained to the others. "Well… we know that Alex has had _flashbacks_ that suggest he had a device implanted at some point. We know there is an electric field emanating from somewhere near his body, suggesting that he has an implant somewhere."

"Clothes?"

"He—"

Alex rolled his eyes. "He can speak for himself." He ignored Nico's smothered snort. "I checked my clothes, there's nothing there." Had gone so far as to check _everything_ he owned. Nothing was out of sorts. "The watch had an electrical field, but without it on, there is still something on me. This hand seems more likely because, well… there was a lot going on with the other one." Anything left behind would've gotten noticed during all of the surgeries – unless the surgeon was in on it, of course. However, something done to a hand without any visible injuries… seemed like fair game.

"And _how_ did you determine this?" Cameron asked.

Alex hesitated. "I… have a device that picks up electrical… and heat signals. It's how I know where the sensors are around the house."

_Idiot._

He only gave them more reason to worry about his ability to get away.

Cameron peered at him suspiciously. "Did you use this to get out of the last place?"

"No!" _Damn._ "I mean… I couldn't. I… didn't have it then." Which was true. He only discovered the password while _on_ that jaunt.

Even Nico was staring at him now. "You've got an informant in MI6."

"No…"

"Yes, you do. Because you have more information than we do. And it certainly isn't coming from that Jones lady."

Alex glared at Nico. He _didn't_ need to bring this up.

"Alright…" Cameron cleared his throat. "Well. Your device isn't sensitive enough. Jacobs? How do we confirm?"

Jacobs shrugged. "Well… ideally an x-ray or something similar would be the best. But…" He waved his hand around the place. "That's not exactly something we have here. In a pinch, a magnet might work, but that's only if there's material that reacts to magnets… Or a metal detector, but only if it's… you know, _metal_."

Cameron glanced at all of them. "Anyone _have_ a magnet?"

Mickey grinned. "Sorry boss, seem to have left it in my bunk."

Cameron rolled his eyes. " _Fine_. I guess we have to do it the hard way. Mickey, let's find ourselves an x-ray machine."

As easy as that, the planning started coming together. Alex wasn't sure what to hope for.

* * *

July 14, Bastille Day.

It really was an odd set of occurrences. Once everyone was working toward a common goal, it seemed that they were all capable of working _together_. Nico was definitely the mediator in the midst of everything, but even he hadn't had to stop too many clashes. Alex had only had to hold his tongue a few times when the planning seemed to get out of hand.

But they were finally _doing_ something. The past few days had been near torture to Alex. Knowing that the moment he allowed himself to get worked up, he would potentially lose his memories. It was a surreal place to be.

Nico had jokingly suggested he take up meditation – but the suggestion wasn't too far off base. He just needed to stay calm.

Which wasn't to say he wasn't stressed about everything.

He was _stressed_.

Twice in the past five days Alex had had more nightmares, of which he remembered nothing more than feelings of terror. All it had done was confirm that he was still actively losing his memory. The runs had also continued – as an odd sort of stress relief – but had continued to give him rather predictable blank spaces in his memory.

He hoped it wasn't all a bust…

After careful consideration, the unit had narrowed down the most likely places to find an x-ray machine – hospitals, urgent care, dentists, and, surprisingly, veterinary clinics. Jacobs had quickly shot down any ideas of trying to complete the test themselves – apparently radiation poisoning was a _huge_ risk, and Alex had zero desire to add that to his list of potential complications down the road. _Well… any more than it already was…_ Unfortunately, it was also clear that they couldn't just waltz into a hospital or urgent care. There was too much risk of being seen by too many people.

Somehow, the group consensus ended up settling on a veterinary clinic situated in the middle of nowhere. On a holiday, there wasn't going to be any outside traffic, but _someone_ would still have to come in to take care of the animals. Jacobs and Mickey had staked out several, but with only a few days to prepare, it was still a bit of a shot in the dark.

Which was how they found themselves _all_ crammed into the SUV at the crack of dawn on a national holiday. The plan was to more or less have Mickey do all the talking – he was the one member of the unit that spoke passable French – and intimidate whatever poor soul showed up into doing what they wanted. Alex wasn't about to volunteer his French skills…

The clinic was small enough that there were only two employees – an older man and his younger assistant. No receptionist. Which meant that both employees _should_ have the training that they needed _and_ were unlikely to both come in on a holiday. It was also far enough away from the safe house that it would be impossible for anyone to trace them back.

Alex hoped.

Alex had nearly dozed off when the atmosphere in the SUV changed.

"That's the assistant," Mickey murmured. They all watched as a single car pulled into a space in front of the clinic and a young man got out. "He should go straight to the back to check on the animals. Even if the old man comes, he won't be here for another two hours."

Two hours to intimidate him into doing what they wanted. This part felt somewhat… irresponsible, but there wasn't any other option. Not without bringing MI6 into the mix.

The SUV was silent as they waited for the assistant to settle into his routine. Someone – Jacobs most likely – had entered the clinic the day before to set a listening device in place, but no one indicated that anything was awry. Likely, just the sounds of a normal person chattering to the animals he was taking care of.

Once it was obvious that everything was continuing as planned, the advanced guard – Mickey and Cameron – were the first to enter. They would subdue the assistant, gain his cooperation, and then Alex and the others would have the opportunity to go in. That way, they only risked compromising _half_ the group if something went horribly wrong.

Nico glanced at Alex. "You ready for this?"

Alex shrugged. "Should be tame." As long as everything went off without a hitch.

Jacobs snorted. " _Tame_ is a word I don't think Mickey has in his vocabulary." He gestured to the earpiece he was wearing. "I don't know much French, but I'm pretty sure he just told that kid in there off for not respecting him." He tilted his head. "Come on, get ready. I think they're about ready for us."

Alex rolled his eyes, but slipped the ski mask on. It was probably the most ridiculous part of the entire getup. All dressed in black, ski masks, and guns – well, _he_ didn't have a gun, but that was nothing new. The poor assistant was likely scared out of his wits as it was. It wasn't like they were robbing a bank. They weren't even stealing anything. Just terrorizing someone who had made the mistake of getting stuck with the early shift, all in the hopes of being able to find the _stupid_ little device.

Jacobs opened his door and got out. "Remember, Spanish only. Alex… as little as possible from you."

"We know!" Alex bit out, annoyed that they felt like they always needed to remind him of the plans over and over. He also hadn't let them in on the fact that he spoke French. It was always good to keep some skills unknown…

Jacobs caught him by the collar as he tried to stalk forward. "And you'll stay between us."

Alex rolled his eyes again, but didn't bother arguing. He was once again the only one without a deadly weapon on his person.

They crept across the parking lot which – thankfully – had no security cameras pointed toward it. It was a bit of a weakness, but worked to their advantage. And, with the sun just beginning to rise, the SUV was relatively hidden in the shadows and it was early enough that it was unlikely that anyone would drive by. But, just in case… they proceeded cautiously.

Nothing happened.

They entered the clinic, bell ringing above them, and crossed the lobby. Jacobs motioned for them to stay back while he cautiously circled the front counter and peered through the door. Deeming it to be safe enough, Jacobs led the way into the back, where Mickey and Cameron had pinned the unsuspecting assistant.

Alex couldn't help but wrinkle his nose at the smell. Animals and antiseptic. Not exactly a pleasant combination.

The assistant looked fairly young, overly trusting, and likely around university age, given his position in the clinic. He also looked to be scared nearly to death by the weapons they were toting around. Once again, Alex wondered how effective intimidation actually worked, as far as getting people to keep their silence.

_"All you have to do is take x-rays of his arm,_ " Mickey went off at him in French, jabbing a finger in Alex's direction. " _You give us all the copies, forget we were ever here, and your life will go back to normal_."

It didn't exactly sound like an encouraging speech…

The assistant looked at Alex, an expression of confusion on his face. " _I thought there would be more blood_."

Alex barely managed to hold in a snort. He had probably been expecting a bullet wound or something. Messy.

Mickey just ignored him. " _So…?_ " He gestured toward the back where, presumably, the x-ray machine was. The assistant nodded, and gestured for them to follow behind.

Alex trailed behind. Maybe things were finally going to work out.

* * *

They were in and out in less than an hour. Somehow, Mickey had impressed on the assistant the importance of speed – and also the promise of a monetary bonus if he performed quickly.

It had been awkward for Alex, but none of the positions were overly uncomfortable. He was, unfortunately, all too familiar with getting his arm x-rayed. Although the assistant protested that he had never x-rayed a human before, none of the safety protocols seemed to be ignored, so Alex assumed he was safe from radiation poisoning.

Hopefully…

Nico retrieved the images with no problem – thank goodness for digital technology. No one had attempted to read them though, so there was still neither confirmation nor denial. At the moment, it was more important to get out before they were noticed.

Alex left with Jacobs first, while the others stayed behind and made sure that they left no evidence of their presence behind. It looked like a small enough place that ensuring that wouldn't be too difficult – but there _was_ some expensive equipment there.

_In and out._

It was only a matter of minutes before the others joined them, and Cameron all but peeled out of the area. He apparently had little desire to stick around any longer than necessary. Especially if for some reason the assistant reneged on their deal.

Alex stared at the USB Nico passed up to Jacobs – the one that would determine whether it was all for naught, or if there really _was_ something wrong with him. He could almost _feel_ his heart fluttering in his chest. The moment of truth.

Mickey tried leaning in to look at the computer screen along with Jacobs, but a well-timed swerve from Cameron sent him sprawling into Nico's lap. Alex was glad for his position in the corner.

"Well, what's that?" Mickey asked, trying to right himself.

Jacobs snorted. "To be fair, I'm a medic, not an effing radiologist. I've hardly got a clue as to what I'm looking for."

Mickey made to lean forward again, but apparently thought better of it. "Yeah… but it doesn't take a medical degree to know that _that_ is not supposed to be there."

"That's because _that_ is exactly what we were looking for."

Alex's breath caught in his throat, as Jacobs turned the screen so he could see the image. There, situated right between the two bones in his arm, was a little rectangular box that definitely should not have been there. "Damn," Alex breathed.

There was actually something there.

Those _bastards_ had done something to him.

He felt vindicated.

Elated.

Terrified.

It meant that what went in, needed to come out.

Alex stared down at his arm, the _good_ one. The one that wasn't supposed to give him any problems. But they had slipped something in there – and then made sure that he had forgotten it even existed in the first place.

It was terrifying.

What did that mean?

Was it actually connected to the memory loss? Or was it something completely different?

And if it was… did he actually have any hope of _recovering_ those memories?

He was lost in his own thoughts for the rest of the four-hour drive back to the safe house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An implant! Some of you predicted this. Good job! Looking forward to seeing what you think of this as we move forward.


	28. Bared

Alex was rather subdued through the remainder of the ride back to the safe house and had promptly disappeared into his room as soon as they arrived. Nico watched him as he went, but didn't have the heart to disrupt him. Although it was great news that they had found what they were looking for, it was also _bad_ news that there was actually something there in the first place.

A reason for the memory loss. Maybe. There really was no telling what exactly the device did, or if it was even related to _anything_ at all. But it was an invasion of privacy in the first place.

Nico couldn't fathom what Alex actually thought about it all.

With the knowledge that they _had_ to do something now, Cameron wasn't about to let the rest of them go. He gathered the rest of them in the kitchen once more for a planning session. Because _now_ they actually had a mission. MI6 sanctioned or not…

They had confirmation that _something_ existed. Knew more or less where it was. Now… they just had to figure out how to get it out.

Cameron slapped a few papers down onto the table. "That's all we have for a medical history on Alex. It doesn't tell us much, but it might be useful." He spun the chair around and folded his arms on the back. "We know it's there, so what do we need to do next?"

"Well…" Jacobs cleared his throat, still skimming through the images. "I wouldn't say we know _where_ it is…"

"We don't?"

"Well… I do more or less…"

"More or less." Cameron sounded distinctly displeased. Nico didn't blame him. _More or less?_ He couldn't see them doing anything short of cutting the damn thing out of Alex – they had to have more to go on than _more or less_.

"You've got to remember, I'm not a radiologist. Or a hand surgeon." Jacobs waved his hand at the images. "I know enough to say that black spot there is not supposed to be there, but I can't just up and say what the best approach is. I'm just working with what I already know of human anatomy!"

And wasn't it the truth. Though they all supported Jacobs medic skills, he really _wasn't_ qualified. He could take out bullets in the midst of a battlefield, but there was usually a clear entry or exit wound. But home surgery… Even that was probably pushing his qualifications too far.

But there really weren't any other choices. There were no other options.

Not without going to MI6.

" _Can_ you do this safely?" Cameron asked. "Or do we need to consider that this is outside our area of expertise?"

_Which meant MI6._ "You can't!"

Cameron glared at Nico. "I've got to think about the health and safety of _everyone_. If Jacobs can't manage it, then we need to find. Another. Option."

Jacobs held out his hands placating. "Listen, I just… I just need some time to study these images. Really, it'd be best if I got my hands on some high-quality images of the anatomy of the wrist and arm. Then I could have a better idea of what I'm getting into. If we just go stabbing around in there… well, aside from the fact that Alex probably wouldn't _like_ that, it could do some serious damage."

Nico couldn't help but cringe at the mental image. It would be like… _them_ all over again.

_Alex screaming._

_Helpless_.

Cameron nodded. "We can find that. Can you make up a list of other supplies you'll need? Personally, I want this over with as soon as possible. I imagine… Alex would like that too."

Jacobs pulled out a notepad and started scribbling down notes, every now and then referring back to the images on the screen.

"You two…" Cameron nodded at Nico and Mickey. "You'll be in charge of getting whatever Jacobs needs. Get it fast, but without notice if possible. I'll… work on a contingency plan in case everything goes pear shaped. We don't know just what all that _thing_ can do."

And that was a possibility that Nico hadn't really contemplated. They had made the seemingly easy link between the device and the memory loss – but it was possible it wasn't even connected. But it hadn't occurred to him that it could be there for a completely different, nefarious reason, and that removing it would cause even more problems.

It was possible that everything they were planning to do was all for naught.

* * *

Not two days later found Nico on his second stakeout. They had been able to get their hands on most of the supplies easily – most of the medical supplies had been sourced from several pharmacies within a day's drive of the safehouse. It was surprisingly easy to get saline and intravenous kits. Some other, more specialized items, Jacobs already had in his kit – sutures, needle, scalpel.

The tricky items – medications in particular – were more difficult to find.

Since Jacobs was clear that he really had very little idea of what they were up against, he had been _thorough_ in his list. Painkillers, local anesthetics, even a mild sedative. Of course, when he had put it into perspective – literally cutting _into_ Alex's arm – it had made all of them want to cringe. It wasn't exactly a desired experience for anybody.

"Five minutes," Mickey said, breaking Nico out of his thoughts. "The alarm's been armed, but I should have a minute to get the code in. If it doesn't work, grab what you can, and get out quick."

They really hadn't had much of a better plan.

Medications were heavily controlled and there weren't many locations in this region that had any of it just sitting out in the open. Hospitals were the best, but also the worst as far as getting in without being noticed. Small rural clinics might be lacking security, but they also likely didn't _have_ the supplies. Urgent care centers… many were open 24/7, but there were a few here and there that closed late at night.

It was one such that they had found and had spent the better part of the past 24-hours staking it out. Watching the comings and goings. Although such a… _heist_ would benefit from days of planning, they didn't have days. And to think that they had turned to be common criminals…

_The Sergeant was not going to be happy when he got the final report at the end of all this…_

"Masks?" Nico asked, pulling the ski mask over his forehead.

"Masks."

And that was the last they said. Because it wouldn't do for anyone to pick up their voices on a recording. They really were functioning mostly blind in regards to what security the place did and didn't have.

They crossed between the trees and sidled up to the backdoor. Nico took up guard as Mickey dropped to his knees and pulled out a lock picking kit. _Where_ exactly he had gained those skills – or the kit, for that matter – had only been explained away as _the great indiscretions of youth_. Whatever the case, it was what they needed.

The backdoor was significantly lower security than the other doors on the place – though there were still cameras to contend with. But then, they _wanted_ to be caught on camera, as it would be an obvious robbery. The owners would be compensated but their identities would be safe. Hopefully…

It was a long ten minutes as Nico peered out into the darkness, with only the sounds of Mickey tinkering around with his lock picks in the background. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, a mix of anxious anticipation and exhilaration. It was good to do _something_ again.

_Snick_.

The door eased open and Mickey tapped Nico on the shoulder. He gestured with his head and slipped into the clinic.

From there, everything moved quickly.

There were only a few emergency lights on as they crept into the halls. They needed to be fast, but couldn't seem _too_ premeditated. They just needed to look like hooligans if someone got a hold of whatever security footage there was. Mickey needed to find the security box – which they only had a guess of where it was – before the emergency alert was sent out and Nico needed to find the supplies.

The supplies were the easier of the two to accomplish.

Mickey flashed him a hand signal and they split ways.

_Five minutes_.

Whether or not the emergency alert was successfully tuned off or not, they needed to be in and out as quickly as possible. Nico started the timer on his watch, giving himself four minutes. That would leave one minute to get out of the building.

Unfortunately, with the limited planning time, they hadn't been able to get a hold of any building plans, so Nico was just blindly searching the place, hoping to find the files and the medicine cabinet. By some stroke of luck, it was laid out much like any other medical clinic – the patient rooms were toward the back, close to where they had entered. Which meant the nurses station was… somewhere in the middle.

Nico wasn't sure why he was bothering to keep his steps quiet – it wasn't as if there were anybody around to hear him – but continued to creep through the halls.

_Three minutes, thirty seconds._

The hall opened up into the nurses' station, with several filing cabinets pressed up against the wall. He started going through them, just to create havoc, all while searching for something that might lead him to his target.

_Papers._

_Papers._

_Papers._

A key on a chain.

_Three minutes._

A key meant a corresponding lock somewhere…

Then, a closed door caught his attention. _Cagibi._ Not that he read French… but it looked promising. He glanced at the key. _Surely, they wouldn't…_ But if robbery wasn't something they were highly worried about, they _maybe_ they would.

_Two minutes, thirty seconds_.

He slid the key into the lock, all but holding his breath as he turned it. The door clicked open. He shone his light in the room, picking up the medical supplies held within.

_Jackpot_.

There were only a few things left on their list of needs, but it was imperative that they took other items as well, so that it wasn't immediately obvious what they were after.

_Hooligans_ , obviously.

If only the semi-controlled substances disappeared… it would raise quite a few eyebrows. This needed to look like a normal, run of the mill, robbery – junkies after drugs, or post-holiday revelers that were just looking to stir up trouble…

Whatever the case, the less high-profile it came across, the less likely someone would notice something off that might cast suspicion in their direction.

Not that it could. But it didn't hurt to be too careful.

Nico grabbed at items, putting them somewhat haphazardly into the bag he had. Some of the labels were familiar, and he noted down mentally what matched what the needed. It didn't help that most of the labels were in French… Things he was _positive_ they didn't need, he let fall to the ground haphazardly, in the hopes of throwing someone off their trail.

_One minute._

His watch buzzed, letting him know it was time to get out.

But, he was still _missing_ things…

He smashed the side of a small cabinet open and took in the various bottles. It would have to do. Carefully, so that nothing would break, he put them into the bag. A crash from the other side of the clinic caught his attention – Mickey's way of signaling that it was past time to go. Nico knocked the remaining items off the shelf, upended a few file holders, and then, throwing all caution to the wind, sprinted down the halls.

He met Mickey outside the backdoor. Mickey waved him along, shutting the door, before sprinting across the lot and out of sight of the cameras. They purposefully sprinted _away_ from their vehicle, in the hopes that anyone reviewing security footage, would send a search in the wrong direction. After a few tense minutes, Mickey led the way back to the vehicle.

As soon as they were in the SUV, Nico shed his facemask. It wasn't exactly the most breathable material. Mickey started the SUV and pulled onto the road, driving away from the clinic.

"Get everything?"

Nico glanced down at the bag in his hands. "Most of it, at least." There were still a few things that were possibly unaccounted for, but Jacobs was going to have to live with what they got. Attempting to find those missing supplies would be difficult, if not impossible, within the next several days. The police were likely going to be on high alert – and even if they went to a completely different region, _someone_ was certain to notice. A pattern was exactly what they _didn't_ want.

Five minutes out, they passed a police car, meandering in the opposite direction. Mickey just kept driving and Nico watched it carefully.

"Didn't get the alarm off?"

"Nope," Mickey said, staring at the road. "Electronic lock, with two attempts, and a two-minute timer. Didn't get very far. Figured it would be best to just smash and go."

Nico snorted, before glancing over his shoulder again. They had just ruined _someone's_ night, that was for sure. "I feel horrible doing that to someone…"

"Well… hopefully they've got good insurance." The SUV eased around the corners, not too fast, not too slow. "But who knew a teenager would turn us all into criminals. Unsanctioned actions… I wonder how Cameron is justifying it all."

"Probably by hoping this will all get shoved under the rug when we get back." _If_ they got back. They were just about at the three-month mark. Which was incredible. They would be up for leave before Alex's situation was resolved at this rate.

"Whatever the case, this all had better be worth it."

* * *

Jacobs was more or less pleased by their haul and they were gratified to learn that their little heist had been brushed off as local hooligans. It was a bit of a kerfuffle in that community, but didn't spread much further. Clearly the local authorities weren't too concerned about it. Although it was a location well over five hours from their safehouse, it was good thing no one had noticed them.

In the intervening two days, Nico had hardly seen Alex, with the exception of meals. He had fallen quite sullen since they had confirmed the presence of the implant. Hadn't even shown interest in his daily jog. Nico wasn't sure what exactly was going through the teenager's mind, but doubted that it was good. Or useful, really.

The concern that removing the implant wasn't really going to do anything was in the back of Nico's mind – and he didn't doubt that it was in Alex's as well. And there was also the concern of how it got _in_ there in the first place.

"Alright." Jacobs startled Nico out of his thoughts. "I think we're ready."

"You _think_?"

He shrugged. "I'm not exactly a surgeon. Or even doctor. Ideally, Alex would get this out at an actual hospital. But it seems like this is the only option we have." He glanced around the room. "So where should we…?"

Nico cast a glance as well. The surveillance room was definitely not the place to be. No easy clean up. The bathroom might be better as far as clean up, but… it wasn't exactly comfortable. And since this was already likely going to be an uncomfortable procedure… it was best to just try for something a little nicer. Which left… the kitchen or the living room. "Kitchen, I suppose."

"You get the kid; Mickey will take over for you. Cam and I will set up… everything."

This was it. The moment of truth.

Nico left the surveillance room and went to Alex's room. He knocked on the door, unsure of whether he would get a response or not. There was nothing but silence from within the room. If he didn't know better, Nico might have suspected Alex of pulling another runner. But he had already made it clear that he wasn't going anywhere – not with this unknown object in his arm.

Nico knocked again and when he continued to receive no response, carefully pushed open the door. The room was dimly lit – no thanks to the almost nonexistent windows in the room – but it was immediately apparent that Alex wasn't at his desk. The laptop sat abandoned. Nico pushed further into the room and found Alex sitting cross legged on his bed, with his headphones plugged into the music player. The music player that had more features than just music.

One day, he was going to pick Alex's brain about it. If he allowed it…

"Hey, Alex," he called, trying not to startle Alex.

Alex only jerked slightly, before slowly opening a single eye to him. "Hmm?"

Nico raised an eyebrow at him. Certainly not what he was expecting. "Jacobs says he ready to get that _thing_ out. Are you?"

Alex let out a long breath. "About time." He shook out his limbs as he stood up from the bed. He pocketed the music player and headphones, before turning to Nico. "Can't say I'm looking forward to this though…"

Who would? "Well… I know Jacobs has got it all planned out."

"That's what we're hoping…" Alex grumbled.

It certainly was. Jacobs had been quite thorough the evening before in his recounting of just what all could go wrong. It wasn't exactly comforting. He was glad Alex had been absent for that session. As they walked down the hall, Nico wondered just what kind of mess they were setting themselves up for. Because surely, it couldn't all go according to plan.

They entered the kitchen to quite a sight.

The table was completely covered in those blue surgical sheets – Mickey's addition to the haul from the clinic – and a tray of shiny, ominous looking, tools sat to one side. If it weren't for the odd mug sitting in the background, Nico felt as if they had stepped into some strange doctor's office. There were a couple of syringes set off to one side, lying in wait.

It was both homey and utterly creepy at the same time.

Alex froze at the doorway, as if suddenly realizing that _this_ was actually happening.

Nico gave him a nudge, trying to encourage him into the room, but he remained in place. Not that Nico blamed him. _He_ didn't exactly want to go into the room either. "We don't…. _have_ to do this, you know?" Of course, at this point, not doing it would be an utter waste of both the time and resources they had put into it.

The risks they had taken.

It seemed pointless to turn back now.

But Alex… Alex looked almost _terrified_ of crossing the threshold.

_Who knew what all they had done to him when their captors had hauled him away?_

Alex shuddered, took a deep breath, and stiffly walked across the room. He dropped into the waiting chair, but physically leaned away from the table, as if it would attack him.

Jacobs peered at him. "He's right, you know? We don't have to do this now."

Alex's shoulders were tight and he shook his head. "No. Now."

Which was clearly the opposite of what he wanted to do. Nico noticed him eying the syringes, as if they were going to jump up and bite him.

But then… even Nico knew that Alex hadn't had good experiences with needles. They had injected him with who knew what back at the end of the captivity. It wasn't likely that that was the first instance either.

It suddenly made a whole lot more sense.

Alex was _afraid_. The teen who seemed to fear nothing – except what others used to bring him down.

Nico took the second chair – nearby, but out of Jacobs' way – and tried to offer a reassuring presence. Which was difficult since his stomach seemed intent on roiling violently. "How about… we go through what needs to be done."

Jacobs surveyed both of them carefully, before launching into his spiel. "Well… I spent quite a while looking at those images we got. It was a little hard going, but I think I've identified the relevant landmarks. The implant is in between the two bones in your wrist, but it's likely placed on the underside – or you would have probably noticed it. Felt it. On the underside, they were able to hide it within the muscle tissue. And since it's so small, you didn't notice it."

Alex stared at him, before raising an eyebrow. "So?"

"Right, well, first we've got to numb the area. I'll use a local anesthetic first. Then we'll go with a deeper one and a regional block." He looked at Alex, calculating. "I should have the dosages right, but if for some reason it's uncomfortable or you notice pain, you've got to tell me. My disclaimer is that I am definitely _not_ a surgeon. There are nerves and muscles in your hand and if we mess up… it _can_ do damage. My best medical advice would be to find someone qualified to get it out."

"You are," Alex murmured, glancing down at his arm. "You're the best we've got."

Jacobs puffed up a bit at that and Nico couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Be that as it may, it's going to take a bit before we can actually get to the tricky part. You've… Nico said you've had bad reactions to sedatives, so we're going to stay as far away from those as possible. We don't want to mess with anything there. So, you're going to have to be awake and consenting the entire time." Jacobs stared at him earnestly. "You can't freak out on me halfway through and decide that something else needs to be done, because then we're just as likely to screw something up. You need to be absolutely sure that this is what you want, now." He cast a glance at Nico as well.

Which… was unusual. But then, Nico was _technically_ Alex's guardian.

He officially had the right to sign on or off to medical procedures.

And wasn't that a mind trip…

"I want it. Out." Alex grit out, but his body language really said the exact opposite. It looked like the very last place he wanted to be was sitting in the chair in the room.

"Alright…" Jacobs leaned forward, holding his hand out for Alex's arm. "Then we're going to get started. First, we'll clean everything down, sanitize it, and then start with the medications. I can't give you anything too strong, because we a, don't know how you'll react to it and b, I'm not a doctor. There is a limit to my capabilities."

Alex grudgingly gave his arm over, placing it down on the blue table covering. He took a deep breath, relaxed into his chair, and closed his eyes. "Just… get it over with."

"Alright, then I'm going to need to you take off your shirt."

Alex's eyes flew open. "What?"

Jacobs' lip twitched in amusement. "I can't exactly work around your clothes, can I? Shirt off. You can have a blanket if you need it."

Alex gave him a baleful glare, clearly second guessing his choices.

It also explained why the kitchen was so _warm_.

Alex cautiously peeled off his sweatshirt, taking care with his _other_ arm. The soft brace was still there, but it seemed almost like he had a matching pair of hands for once.

_Not for long…_

He hesitated at the shirt, but an exasperated look from Jacobs convinced him to peel that off as well. He hunched over himself, clearly self-conscious about his looks. The only thing that caught Nico's attention was the starburst of scar tissue on his chest – bullet wound, the report had said. Alex was clearly self-conscious about that.

"Cold?" Jacobs asked.

Alex shook his head, appearing to attempt to relax once again.

Nico studied him, watching carefully as Jacobs cleaned everything and shaved the hair off a patch of skin. There was little to do while Jacobs cleaned and prepped the skin and created as clean an _operating_ area as possible. Nico felt a little nauseous just thinking about it. They were going to cut into Alex to _remove_ something from him. That was… far beyond the usual expectations of duty.

Jacobs pulled out a cream and started spreading it on the skin. "This should numb the skin, so you shouldn't feel anything when I give you the injection there. But you've got another injection in your upper arm that I've got to make as well."

Alex's jaw set, but to his credit, he didn't flinch away.

Jacobs pulled over the tray with the syringes, taking the smaller of the two first. "This is the regional block. You shouldn't feel much after this in your arm. As long as it's been calculated right, it'll last for about three hours." Nico noted that Jacobs didn't mention how he was guessing on the proper injection sites…

Alex resolutely looked in the opposite direction as Jacobs injected the medicine. He didn't flinch, though he certainly looked like this was the last place he wanted to be.

Nico was reminded of sitting in the cold, trying to convince Alex to let the medic come closer when they had first been rescued. This was a jarring difference.

"Alright… we'll give both of those a couple minutes to start working. Are you comfortable?"

Alex shrugged, but settled deeper into the chair. His arm stayed in place, so there was that.

Nico licked his lips. He felt inexplicably anxious about this whole thing. Alex was acting like an automaton. Not that Nico could imagine doing this himself. Letting someone he hardly knew or trusted cut him open. But then, desperate times called for desperate measures…

It was a long few moments, with Cameron just hovering in the background. He hadn't said anything so far, but was giving Alex an assessing look. Nico couldn't see Alex's back, but wondered if the faint scars visible on the front wrapped around to the back or not. What kind of story did that tell about this kid? He was only a teenager…

Jacobs continued his preparations, pulling on gloves and draping the area around Alex arm – until there was just a two-inch patch visible. It was… _terrifying_ to realize that such a small area could hold so many problems. And really, they had zero idea of what the implant actually did… there was no telling what kind of surprises there might be waiting for them.

Jacobs tapped a finger on the exposed patch of skin. "How's this feel?"

Alex cracked open an eye to glance down. "Feel's weird."

"Weird, as in numb? Or weird, as in, it's a glove touching your skin?"

Alex seemed to contemplate it for a long moment. "Numb."

"Good. I'm going to give you another injection down here, then we'll get started." He assessed Alex's closed off face for a moment. "I'm gonna recommend that you don't look while we do this. Ideally, I'd put something to _keep_ you from looking, but… I don't think you want that."

Alex shook his head emphatically.

"Alright then. Last injection."

Alex's body tensed once more, but he didn't pull away. Nico had to look away and he wondered how exactly he was supposed to sit here through this. He was feeling nauseous and he wasn't even the one being _operated_ on.

_Unless…_

He shook his head. There was no way that anyone could've gotten something in him. He wasn't the person of interest, after all. But… now that the thought was there… Was he really safe? What if they had implanted _him_ with something too…? He fought back a shudder, trying to brush that off. Now wasn't the time.

He could bring it up to Cameron later.

Not now…

"I'm going to get started," Jacobs said, guiding Alex's attention. "You'll probably feel some pressure. Cameron is going to help me keep the area clean. Maybe Nico can keep you distracted?"

Nico gulped. "Well…"

Alex snorted. "Eloquent as always."

"I don't really have any good stories to tell…" Nico was resolutely _not_ looking in Jacobs' direction. "I could tell you about this one time I got kidnapped while coming back from leave, but I think you've heard that one already."

"Yeah, maybe." Alex's posture tensed. "How about the best assignment you've had. Redactions included."

He took a deep breath, thinking back to some of their earlier assignments. Though none were terribly exciting, there were certainly some… unique ones. "Well, there was the one time we got sent to another country – mind you I can't tell you which – and we had a target to find. British operative. But turns out, there were two of them. Matching pairs, the lot. And they were there to take down some organization that had ties back to political espionage in Britain…" Nico trailed off and made the mistake of glancing down.

_Blood._

_Hey, kid. You're okay._

_Twisting, turning, pulling._

"Nico?"

He sharply inhaled, resettling back in the present. _Distracting Alex._ "Right, umm…" He forced himself to look away, then grabbed the chair and turned it so he would have no choice but to look elsewhere. "Sorry… where was I?"

Alex gave him a wry grin, but his eyes were closed too. Likely had much less desire to see anything. "Something about twins?"

"Ahh, yes. The twins… Let me tell you, that was a strange assignment." The very least he could do was offer some sort of distraction to Alex.

It was the least he could do…

He'd deal with his own issues at a later point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random Monday update! This was supposed to be out on Friday, but uh... got a bit distracted. Poor Alex! But at least we're getting somewhere, right? Thoughts? Opinions?


	29. Point to Make

Alex wasn't sure if he felt nauseous and dizzy because of the amount of blood he had lost or if it was from seeing his own arm so clinically dissected. Despite Nico's attempts at distraction – while _obviously_ not looking in the direction of the makeshift surgical field – Alex couldn't help his own curiosity.

His downfall, his curiosity.

_Blood._

_Everywhere_.

Well… not _everywhere_. It was controlled. But even he could see the ever-growing pile of bloodied gauze. And tried not to see Jacobs' persistent fiddling _in_ his arm.

"Woah, hey, Alex." A hand landed on his shoulder, and then another turned his head away. "Let's not, okay?" Nico was staring at him, resolutely not looking down. "We don't need to you passing out in the middle of this."

Alex nodded slightly. "Yeah…" He closed his eyes, trying to wipe those images out of his brain. It didn't hurt. Didn't even really feel like anything at all.

_That_ wasn't his arm.

"I need you to… hold this… but keep that… yeah. It's all… twisted up…" Jacobs' muttered comments to Cameron, who was apparently the next highest qualified, broke through Alex's _calm_. "Twist, pull, clamp. And if it goes, elevate, elevate, elevate."

It didn't really make much sense, but there was a bit of worried urgency to Jacobs' voice. Like they were doing something that might just not be within the standard of care. What they were expecting to see.

"One…"

_Did he dare look?_

"Two…"

_This was different_.

"Three."

There as a twinge, which he felt, but didn't feel, then Cameron was jerking his arm into the air. Which he felt at the shoulder, but… nothing below. It was… strange.

"Shit, shit, _shit._ "

There was a crash of metal tools on a metal tray, and then Jacobs was peering at his arm intently.

Alex hadn't meant to open his eyes.

But, _curiosity_ …

And he felt kind of dizzy.

Jacobs glanced down at him and swore loudly. "Shit, kid. Nico, get his legs up."

Come to think of it, his head felt pretty heavy too… He let his head loll back, as Nico manhandled his legs onto the chair. It inadvertently led to him slouching, but that felt… almost better.

He was still dizzy.

"Arm down," Jacobs commanded. "Alex, stay with me just a bit longer."

Alex let his eyes fall closed. "S'okay."

"Hold that there. Don't move."

There was a shuffle of supplies on the table, then Alex felt the breeze of someone walking behind him.

He still felt dizzy.

"Here." Someone – Jacobs – grabbed his other arm. His good one.

He could feel _that_.

There was a spot of cold wetness on his arm, tightness around his upper arm, then a sharp jab. He tried to pull away, but with two people holding both his arms… he didn't have much of a chance.

He opened his eyes, but found that that was harder than it should've been. "Di'ju _drug_ me?" He asked, accusingly.

Jacobs snorted, fiddling with something around his arm and the pressure let off. But now there was something _there_. "No, you're just feeling the effects of the blood loss." He peeled off the set of gloves and swapped them out for a clean pair. "Would've given you more warning, but I don't really have time to deal with you passing out on me in the midst of this."

Alex let his head wobble and his muscles felt like they had turned to gelatin. Right.

That was… an IV.

Jacobs had given him an IV.

Which meant that was a _lot_ of blood…

"Alright. Good news, we got something out. Bad news, it was mixed up with the veins and artery, but I don't think we actually _nicked_ the artery. Much. Which would be _bad_." Jacobs circled back around and Alex made sure to look _away_ from his arm. "Do you have your detector device?"

Alex blinked, then processed. "In my pocket." He nodded with his head, but since _both_ arms were now occupied, he couldn't exactly get it.

Nico, who had somehow gotten roped into holding whatever fluids they were now pumping into his system – _which,_ when _had he decided he trusted them to give him random medications?_ – grabbed the music player. He fiddled with some of the buttons, but Alex had shown him the shortcut to getting in to that particular app.

"Can you both step away as much as possible?" Nico asked.

There was a moment of shuffling, everyone stepping back as far as possible.

Alex refused to look at his arm.

"Nothing." Nico met his gaze. "You're clean. No electronics."

Alex let out a sigh of relief. _Something_. They had found something.

No _electronics_ remaining, at least.

Jacobs wasted no time going back to fiddling with his arm. "We'll get you put back together, finish that bag off, then you can go relax."

Alex wanted to relax _now_. At least _that_ was taken care of.

* * *

All in all, it was a success.

By the time Jacobs had his arm sewn back up, Alex was already starting to feel a bit better. He had still done his best not to look at his arm until Cameron had cleaned up some of the gauze though. While he was waiting for the IV to finish – because Jacobs didn't quite trust him walking anywhere – Alex had gotten a closeup look at the slightly bloody but intact little device that _could_ be the source of so many problems.

Not more than a couple of centimeters in size.

It had been all he could do to keep from throwing up at the sight of it.

_That_ had been inside his body.

And no one really had any idea of what it _actually_ did.

Alex knew logically that they couldn't just send it off to MI6 for analysis, but he was beyond curious to know what it did. He had peered at it cautiously, distancing himself from the fact that that was _his_ blood on it. It was one thing to look at things clinically, but a completely different thing to relate it back to his own body.

Once everything was cleaned and wrapped, Jacobs had sent him off to his room, with strict instructions to stay in bed for the remainder of the afternoon. Which hadn't seemed too outrageous when Alex considered how dizzy he had still been just _walking_ to his room. But after several glasses of juice and a several hours long nap, Alex was starting to chafe at the restrictions again. Even though he felt exhausted.

The injections were wearing off, with both feeling and pain coming back into the picture. He wasn't entirely sure what medications he could take to reduce the pain, so kept from taking any. With feeling came movement, and eventually he was able to clench and release his fist. A good sign. It didn't feel all _that_ different. Just… slightly painful.

With the numbness wearing off though, the reality of what they had done was starting to set in. They had actually _removed_ something from him. With no ideas as to what it actually did. Now, there was the question of whether this little implant had really been influencing his memories – and if it was, _how_. Of course, if it _wasn't_ , then there was always the question of what was influencing his memories.

What he would do for a direct line to Smithers…

A knock on his door had him looking up, and Nico stood in the doorway with a sandwich on a plate. It seemed that he had become the official go between the rest of the unit.

"Feel like eating?"

Alex looked down at his arm. He certainly didn't have _all_ the motion back yet, and what he did, hurt. Jacobs had mentioned that although it was a pretty simple surgery, he had still had to cut through some of the muscle. Which meant that it would probably be a couple of weeks before things were back to normal.

So, two out of commission hands…

To be fair, his _bad_ hand really was getting much better.

"It's in two pieces, if that helps any." Nico passed him the plate. "Figured it would probably be a little bit easier to manage."

Alex gave a small smile, before proceeding to devour the food. He had, apparently, been hungry.

"Cameron took a look at the implant," Nico said, casually, "He said there weren't any identifying markers on it, but that it had an inner chamber that seemed to hold something. Obviously, we don't have a chemical lab here, but… it doesn't look like any kind of tracker that we've seen before."

So, likely not a tracker. That was good. Though Alex had suspected as much, since no one had tried coming after him in the recent months.

"How's your arm feel?"

"Weird. Aches a little, but… it should be fine." Alex let out a long breath. "I suppose I should say thank you. It was… a little bit more than what you all would normally do."

Nico gave him a rueful smile. "It _was_ a little much. But… it was the least we could do." He glanced around the room. "Need anything for now?"

"No. I'm good."

Alex was left alone with his thoughts. He desperately wanted to write things down, for fear of forgetting again, but that option was out until he had at least _one_ functioning hand again. But… he had done well. He had stayed clam throughout the entire procedure. He hadn't had a memory blank in over a day.

Nothing was going to magically disappear, because they had _fixed_ it.

He hoped.

* * *

_Cold hands._

_Freezing._

_Burning._

_He tried to twist and turn. Find a way out._

_But where?_

_The walls blurred around him, but he couldn't see._

_Couldn't see anything in front of him._

_Cold._

_"Hello, Rider."_

_Hands, sharp, jabbing._

_He tried to pull away, but his limbs were sluggish. Uncooperative._

_"You're not being as helpful as you should be."_

_Something sharp jabbed into his chin. A hand. Nails. Gripping his face._

_"But then, it seems our information was misinformed." A gentle hand stroked his face. "You never had the answers, did you? You were always just the pawn."_

_The pawn._

_Screeching. Scratching nails._

_Like nails on a chalkboard._

_He tried to breathe in._

_Like fragments of glass scratching him on every inhale._

_"Rider, Rider, Rider… What are we going to do with you?"_

_Pain. Blinding. Pain._

_Alex screamed, trying to pull away. It felt like molten lava was being dripped onto his arms. His sides. His legs._

_"Just a little present, for you." A face loomed above, indistinct in the darkness. "You're only going to remember what we tell you to." Something touched his jaw and he tried to jerk away. His head was held in place. "I'd tell you all about it, but… you won't remember, will you?"_

_Get it out. Get it out. Get. It. Out._

_Alex screamed._

His throat was killing him, but Alex hardly paid it any heed as he crashed into and through his door on the way to the bathroom. He barely made it before he was retching, a combination of distortion from the dream, and the all too real pain in his arms. _Both arms._

He could still feel the hands, gripping him, holding him down.

_Screaming_ …

Three nights. He had had three nights of relative peace and quiet – but always waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for the nightmares to return.

He shuddered, sinking down to the floor, as the vague images continued to flash through his mind. They were fading, becoming more indistinct, but… it was different. It wasn't the same as before. He took a couple deep breaths, trying to center himself. Trying to stop the pounding of his heart in his chest.

The nightmare though… it wasn't disappearing. It was still _there_. He could recall it if he needed. Not that it made much sense… Just feelings of helplessness and pain. And a voice taunting him.

It was progress though.

"You okay?" Mickey appeared at the door, apparently the one on duty for the night.

Alex managed a shaky nod, but winced when he jarred his newly injured hand.

"Do you want some company?"

Now that was unexpected. Mickey had been, by far, the most standoffish toward him the past several weeks. Though he had cooperated with the unit's plans, Alex suspected that was more out of loyalty towards his unit leader than any desire to help Alex.

Alex shrugged, but moved his legs to one side of the room. He didn't plan on getting up from the floor any time soon. At least he knew that the floor was clean…

Mickey took that as an invitation and sank to the floor against the wall. He wasn't obviously armed, but… the unit had seemed to take his security seriously.

And he had all but spat in their face with his little jaunt.

As Alex learned more, the more it seemed that Jones' reluctance to give him information was really the hinderance. The more he learned the more he was convinced that _immediately_ staking out on his own was out of the question. There were too many unknowns. Unknown people targeting him. Unknown consequences of the implant. Unknown motives for keeping him dead or alive.

He let out a sigh, closed his eyes, and pressed his forehead against the floor. Now wasn't the time to contemplate that. He let the remaining images from his nightmare flicker over the backs of his eyelids. It wasn't pleasant… The sensation of being held down, the flashes of bright color. It all fit yet didn't fit together.

Would he ever get his memories back? Or would it just be in jerks and starts?

"Can I take a look at your arm? Jacobs would have all of our heads if something happened."

Alex regarded Mickey with one eye, then glanced down at his arm, vaguely registering the throbbing pain. The wrap wasn't visibly mused, but there was no knowing what it looked like underneath. And since he didn't really have the manual dexterity to deal with it himself, he reluctantly rolled onto his side and held his arm out.

"You know, I thought they were all ridiculous, listening to some kid claim there was an _implant_ in his body." Mickey started to carefully unwrap the wrap and Alex bristled. "I mean, it seemed ridiculous to me – still does – that someone would go through that kind of effort to do _that_. Felt like it was another attempt to get away – and no one else saw it." He smiled ruefully. "Guess I was the one in the wrong this time."

Alex allowed his arm to be manipulated, glancing only briefly at the irritated line of stitching. None were out of place, there was no active bleeding, so all was well for now. Didn't mean it didn't hurt though.

After ensuring that all was well, Mickey wrapped it back up and let go. He peered at Alex inquisitively. "Do you really think that that little device was messing with your memories?"

Alex thought that one over carefully. He _did_ remember bits and pieces of the nightmare, but… it was still so recent. "I dunno. Maybe?" He shrugged. The option that something else was affecting him… was not outside of the realm of possibility, but it certainly wasn't one that he wanted to entertain.

"Hmm…" Mickey leaned back against the wall. "Hate to ask this kid, but do you really expect your memories are going to come back? Like… the mind is resilient and all, but…" He blew out a long breath. "That seems like an awful lot of things to re-catalogue."

And that was the truth of it all. _If_ this was the key to what was preventing his memories from sticking around, would that automatically mean he would get all of them back? Would these fits and starts of memories actually stick around? But then… one of the main problems hadn't been that he couldn't remember past events – it was that memories of _current_ events were disappearing. He _had_ read the dossier about his captivity. There was timestamped evidence. But he didn't remember _any_ of it. So maybe… maybe if he could at least explore those peculiarities, he would gain some sort of benefit.

Mickey's eyes widened suddenly. "I… I didn't mean to be insensitive."

"It's okay."

"I just meant…" He trailed off, looking down at his hands. "Nico was there – and I find it hard to reconcile the fact that a teenager was there too – and he was messed up for weeks after it. Once he was cleared to come back, he hardly told us anything. But… you were _there_. He'd… he'd probably talk to you. Help you fill in some of those blanks."

It was true. Nico had already offered. But it hadn't done him much good when he was forgetting things. Maybe now… But they really needed to confirm his theory that it was all actually over first.

Alex was almost too nervous to actually _try_ anything. He hadn't tried to get worked up. Hadn't tried to explore anything. All because he was _afraid_ of what he may or may not learn from the experience. There were too many variables, after all.

His heart was starting to calm and he actually felt tired again.

But the memories were still there.

They both sat in silence for a long while and eventually Alex decided that it was well past time to get up. He no longer felt like his reality was splitting apart at the seams, so it was time to go back to being on his own. He pushed himself up off the ground, taking care not to put too much pressure on his right arm. It was a little disconcerting getting used to swapping arms.

Mickey didn't say anything as he left the bathroom, just let him pass by quietly.

Alex almost appreciated him for it.

It was certainly a strange experience.

There was little likelihood that he was going to get any sleep, so… Alex figured it was probably as good a time as any to catch up on the latest updates that Smithers sent him…

* * *

Alex felt like he was flying.

Everything was working out.

Everything was making sense.

Though, to be fair, they still had no idea on what exactly the device had done. But it had obviously affected his memory capabilities.

Because they were back now.

Alex barely kept from running into Nico when they reached the clearing. It had been three days since Jacobs had cleared him for exercise, nearly a week since they had removed the device, and there had been no blank spaces in his memory since. He remembered their entire running route, even knew what to expect at the clearing – which he had no previous memory of.

Nico tossed him a water bottle that someone had left behind for them – probably Cameron, since he was the one who had disappeared early in the morning.

"Nice catch."

Alex glanced down and realized he had caught the bottle with his braced left hand. It was another pattern he was noticing – he could do a lot more with his hand than he had realized. Although he dedicated time toward the rehabilitation exercises, he honestly hadn't noticed dramatic improvement in the past several weeks. He had thought he was plateauing.

"Keep moving kid," Nico said, pacing the clearing. "You don't want to seize up."

Alex rolled his eyes. "Not a _kid_."

Nico just responded by squirting water at him. "Keep moving, or Jacobs will have no pity."

Jacobs.

A SAS unit member, but also a bit controlling when it came to injuries. Despite the fact that Alex didn't use his arm for running, Jacobs had prevented him from going out earlier. He had also been quite explicit in detailing just how lucky they had all been that Alex hadn't bled out or injured the nerve in the process, and that that meant he should listen to Jacobs advice and guidance.

Alex was pretty sure most of it was baloney, but…

He paced the clearing, knowing that Nico would just keep bugging him for as long as he didn't move.

_Mother hens, the lot of them._

Although there was improvement in the areas of physical health, Alex still hadn't managed to look at the report on his captivity. Nor had he found an appropriate time to bring it up with Nico… Mainly, because he was still somewhat fearful of what uncovering those memories might actually bring about. He had done as much reading on amnesia as he could during his limited internet time, but nothing had quite seemed to fit his symptoms. Neither anterograde _nor_ retrograde amnesia really fit the description. It was more like a mix – along with whatever _post traumatic_ memory loss he had as well. Whatever _wasn't_ created by them.

In addition, many of those sources had suggested that recovery could takes months to years, and even then, not all the memories may return. Particularly if those memories were especially traumatic.

Which…

Captivity was likely the definition of traumatic.

But he didn't have months to years to get his brain figured out.

He needed to know _now_.

Nico nudged him in the shoulder. "Drink. Stop thinking, just drink."

Alex sighed, before taking a long drink. It was the middle of July and their location wasn't the coolest at that time of year. But then, they weren't exactly running at a punishing pace. Nico was clearly holding back, but Alex wasn't sure if that was what he had always done, or if it was in consideration of his more recent _injury_.

"Why don't you lead the way back?" Nico suggested, seeming to pick up on Alex's train of thought. "Just go… full out. Whatever you want. I can keep up."

_Full out?_ He hadn't had a chance to sprint in months. Alex smirked, picking up the challenge. "Sure about that?"

Nico gave him an assessing glance. "Well… you've hung back so far. Unless you've been hiding things?"

"Sprint for it?" That light and carefree feeling rose in his chest again. _Fun_. It had been quite a while since he felt he had truly _enjoyed_ doing something. Especially something so trivial as running.

"Alright… but no funny business. Straight back, no detours – or Jacobs will have you locked down so quickly you won't know what happened."

"Jacobs will?"

Nico shrugged. "I guess the rest of us will help as well."

Alex grinned, tossing his water bottle down by the tree. "Well, let's go then."

Nico eyed him warily, setting his own bottle down and stepping carefully around the tree. _Planted trigger?_ It would make sense why they always stopped in the same place…

"Ready?"

Nico nodded.

"Go!" Alex took off, barely giving Nico a chance to process. He didn't expect to win – much too out of shape – but for now, he could at least enjoy the exhilarated thrill of being free.

Somewhat.

He would deal with all his other issues at a later time. For now, he had a point to make.


	30. The Notebook

Nico flipped the page in his book, but he had long since stopped reading the words on the page. Alex had flopped onto the sofa nearly half an hour earlier – for the first time in several weeks. And it just made the peculiarities of the situation sink in. Nico was just waiting for what came next, because it was obvious that Alex didn't do _anything_ in the past several days without a distinct purpose.

Even if he was pretending to read _his_ notebook.

The change in Alex over the past several days had been… somewhat unnerving. It wasn't that he had changed personality drastically. It was more that… his original personality was starting to come back. The teenager that Nico had met for only a handful of hours. But different, still. Not as jaded about the world in general, but more sarcastic. He had even dared to act like a teenager.

But at the same time…

There were obvious moments that he zoned out mid-conversation, and other times where Alex had asked hesitant questions about their time in captivity. _What had happened the first day? How long was Nico there before Alex arrived? Did he remember any names?_ But nothing too deep. Nothing that required too hard of an answer.

The nightmares had continued as well. Each of them had taken a turn in the past two weeks of sitting with Alex in the bathroom following a nightmare. It seemed, oddly, his place of comfort. Once the stitches had come out, there hadn't been as much concern that he would tear the wound open; but he seemed to appreciate the company. And they all had noticed that he didn't seem quite as distant following a nightmare.

A distinct change from the weeks and months before.

Nico dared a glance over the top of his book and surveyed the scene. Alex had made a lot of progress over the past several weeks, physically. He was no longer favoring his right arm – the stitches had been removed and all that was left was the puckered scar – and was doing more and more with his left hand. They had taken to sprinting more while out on their runs, and Alex was surprisingly fast. He could hold it for a long time, but when it came down to a sprint, he was faster than Nico.

With the changes in personality, physicality, and confidence, it seemed that Alex was determined to push through whatever life threw at him. Nico personally thought that they were quickly running out of the honeymoon stage and would have to soon worry about whether Alex would decide to strike out on his own.

Confidence. Independence. No more worries about his memory.

It was all a recipe for rebellion.

Nico liked to think that they had built some levels of trust, some proof that _they_ weren't out to get him, but… reading the bare notes about Alex's situation _before_ the kidnapping painted a very different picture. He didn't want others looking out for him – and Nico was starting to wonder just _who_ had gotten hurt and _why_ he perceived it as his fault.

And although it had been more or less radio silence from MI6 for the past several weeks – as if they _knew_ they had been up to no good – the latest instructions had them not only going in to a city for a couple of hours, but staying _overnight_ so that Alex could complete some proctored tests. Which… Nico definitely questioned MI6's process and wondered why on earth they decided that _July_ was the time to do it.

The note had done nothing more than mention that Alex was ready to take GCSEs in two subjects and was expected to report to a proctoring center at a specific date and time. The cover story and identification had already been provided and Nico had watched Alex examine it. It was solid enough that he could probably get by for several months before anyone caught on to the fact that it was _fake_.

Which. Really _wasn't_ what they were going for, if there was any hope of convincing Alex to stick with the SAS unit.

Nico ran a hand over his face, then realized it was probably about time for another page turn.

Alex was steadily gaining more and more resources, more and more information, and… it felt like it was just a matter of time before he up and disappeared once again. And for some reason… Nico felt a personal responsibility to make sure that nothing more happened to Alex. Which he couldn't do if he didn't _stick around_ … Cameron had covertly upped the security around the house, but Nico suspected that Alex had a lot more resources that would allow him to circumvent those protections.

Especially if that little music player held more secrets than it initially appeared.

Alex huffed a sigh from the sofa and paused his scribbling of words and flipping of pages.

Nico could almost feel the eyes on him.

"I bet _you_ never had to study Spanish lit."

The topic is so far out of left field that Nico can't help but snort. "What?"

Alex was now staring at him intently, an annoyed expression on his face. "Well, you're just…" He waved his hand up and down. "Like, native, right?"

Nico set his book to the side and raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure where Alex was going with this. "And by _native_ you mean…?"

Alex let his ever-present notebook fall to the floor and he swung his legs around so he was sitting. "Well, you're… I mean… Your family is from Spain. So, I bet you just got an easy pass and got out of Spanish lit."

Nico sat up straight. _Where_ had Alex gotten that information from? Though he supposed that it had possibly come up in the midst of his rambling the other night… "Why do you say that?"

"Say what?"

"An easy pass."

"Well… I mean… I bet you didn't have anyone forcing you to study double Spanish when you were already fluent."

Nico raised an eyebrow. "Well then, why are you?"

Alex spluttered. "I'm not… _fluent_. Just like…" He rubbed at the back of his head. "Learned a bit when I was a kid, with my—" He broke off and looked away. "Doesn't matter. It's not like I chose my subjects anyway."

Alright. Clearly a touchy spot. "If you don't like it, then shouldn't you be glad that you'll be done with it in a couple days?" After all, one of the two subjects he was supposed to be sitting was Spanish lit, along with English lit – which was a terrible combination in Nico's opinion.

Alex flopped back on the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. "Lit classes are the worst."

Nico smirked. "Would you believe me if I told you I actually went to uni for Spanish?"

Alex stared at him out of the corner of his eye. "And then you just decided to ditch it all and join the army?"

"Well… no. Army was the plan all along. Officer training, was the goal, actually. But it only took a semester to figure out that uni was _not_ the place for me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "But when you're eighteen, you think you know exactly what you want." Much like Alex seemed convinced that he knew exactly what he wanted for his future. But he was only _sixteen_. Astonishingly young.

Alex made a face at that, before rolling on to his side. "But at least you could _make_ those decisions." The wistfulness of the tone caught Nico off guard. "There was the chance of _doing_ something."

Nico stared at Alex. It was obvious at the best of times that he felt trapped, but… Was it more than just the temporary prison? "So, what would you do?"

"What?"

"If you didn't have… all _this_ going on. What would you be doing with your life?"

Alex sat up again and gave him a rueful smile. "That's not going to happen, so what's the point of would be's?" He grabbed his notebook and retreated from the room.

Which…

If that wasn't a depressing thought, Nico wasn't sure what was. If Alex really had no sights on his future… well… It couldn't be _healthy_. But then could he really be blamed? It seemed that he had gotten quite the lot in life for the past several years – and it didn't look like it was going to be improving any time soon.

Nico glanced back at his book. Though he doubted he had the answers… he would at least try to help Alex in whatever way he could. Even if that meant defying MI6. Which… was a terrifying thought.

A great way to lose a career, for sure.

But it was worth it.

* * *

Staying in a hotel was… quite the unexpected experience. There were all of the comforts with none of the security. At least, their _own_ security.

It was supposed to be a relaxing experience, but Nico knew that none of them – Alex included – slept well that night. He wouldn't have believed that Alex had slept at all if it weren't for the noticeable sleep marks on his face in the morning.

Mickey had stayed behind – as usual – to keep the safehouse secure. Jacobs was given the option of staying or leaving, but it hadn't been any surprise which he had chosen. They were all starting to feel the monotony of being relatively cooped up within one little safehouse. Any out, even if it was at the whims of MI6, was going to be taken.

Since there was no way Cameron was staying behind – and Nico was by default since _anything_ to with Alex meant he was there – it was a whole entourage that adventured off on whatever this outing for MI6 was supposed to be. Supposedly, two GCSE exams for Alex, a check in with a physical therapist, and an information drop courtesy of MI6.

With one exam and the physical therapist visit down on the first day, none of them had really thought much about what would happen the second day. Or even what would happen at night. With the four of them crammed into a small hotel room, it really wasn't much better than the safehouse. And it hadn't helped that Alex definitely hadn't been in a good mood following the first exam. With little to no privacy, Alex had hardly said anything as they ate the pizza that Jacobs had scrounged up from somewhere.

Bedtime had been… a bit awkward as well, and Nico had heard Alex tossing and turning for quite a few hours – having been picked to have the first watch.

So, the night had been rough.

Nico glanced at Alex across the table in the café they had eventually made their way to. Cameron was off connecting with whatever package drop they had, while they rest of them killed time until Alex had to report to the testing center. The dark circles under Alex's eyes hadn't diminished in the slightest, and he looked as if he was pondering the feasibility of drowning himself in his coffee.

Nico nudged Alex under the table, stirring him out of whatever contemplation he was stuck in. "I think Jacobs is having the most fun out of all of us." Nico nodded toward where Jacobs was holding their cover by flirting outrageously with the worker at the bakery, pretending to be a Spanish tourist with a fairly decent grasp on English – since Mickey was still the only one that spoke French.

Alex glanced over his shoulder, a slight quirk of his lips.

At least that was some sort of reaction.

"He'd do better if he just dropped the poor English," Nico observed, watching the worker flirt back uncomfortably. It was both amusing and awkward to watch. Like a car wreck.

Alex snorted. "Better him than me." He drank a little of the coffee, before scowling down at the drink.

"Not to your liking?" Which, he had never seen Alex drink the coffee in the safehouses, so…

"Prefer tea." He stirred at his coffee, before glancing up at Nico. "I… stopped drinking, didn't I?"

Nico blinked. "Huh?"

Alex glanced carefully at anyone sitting near them, before turning back to Nico. "When we were, _you know_. I stopped drinking. Once the… _drowning_ started."

_You know_. Nico held back a shudder at those words. What a simplistic way to put things. _You know_. But it seemed that Alex wanted to talk about it. "Yes…"

"You probably saved my life."

Nico glanced away and shrugged his shoulders, uncomfortable. "I did what anyone would do." Anyone with a brain and shred of compassion. He couldn't have left a teenager to die in their hands – though he practically had.

"Not anyone…" Alex's voice trailed off. "I'm remembering more. I've got a… a list of things. Events. Places. Whatever." He shrugged. "I don't… it doesn't all fit together. Not linearly."

He was picking at his sleeve now, obviously wanting to ask a question, but… not quite there yet. Nico stayed quiet.

"You said… a while ago… if I had questions. Can you… I've got it all in what I think is close to the right order, but I know there's still a lot missing. Can you just… look it over and let me know what doesn't look right? I don't… want the blanks filled in yet. I'm… working on that."

Nico blinked. It certainly wasn't what he was expecting, but… it wasn't completely outrageous. If Alex was working on piecing together his memories – and it seemed that they _were_ coming back – then that meant that there was the possibility that previously unanswered questions might _have_ answers. Like, who their captors were in the first place and what they wanted with Alex – though Nico wasn't sure that Alex was going to share with the class, even _if_ he knew.

Alex was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

"Of, of course. Yeah, sure. I can…" His tongue tripped over the words, not wanting Alex to think he _wouldn't_ do it. Sure, it might be triggering as hell, and he doubted he'd sleep well after going through it, but… if it helped Alex, it was worth it.

Alex jerked his head once, before reaching down to his backpack. He pulled out a small notebook, not much larger than his hand, and slid it across the table. "The first few pages have what I think is the order of events. If you… don't agree with something, just rewrite it."

Nico nodded and flipped open to the first page. It was surprisingly legible, though it looked like two different people had written sections of it – most likely dominant and non-dominant hand writing. There were rough approximations of dates, but… even Nico wasn't sure on dates. Time had felt like it moved both incredibly fast and incredibly slow at the same time.

Movement out of the corner of his eye alerted him to the fact that Jacobs had been unsuccessful in his flirting and was signaling that it was time to move on. Nico flipped the notebook shut and put it into his pocket. "I'll look at it and get it back to you."

Alex shrugged and looked away. "Whenever."

Though his posture suggested that he didn't really care, Nico had no doubt that Alex wanted that little notebook back in his possession as soon as possible.

Jacobs brushed by their table and headed out into the street. Nico gave Alex a rueful smile, drunk down the last of his coffee, and got up. The streets were starting to get busy and Alex would no doubt get twitchy as more and more people ventured out into the summer sun. They had an appointment to get to and one more exam to get through.

He would have plenty of time to get through it.

* * *

It was a good thing Jacobs had joined Cameron on whatever errand they had, since it meant that Nico was able to stare at the little notebook with no questions asked. Especially since it just wasn't adding up.

There were bits and pieces that made sense, but then others that… made no sense at all. The timeline seemed to be out of sorts, but Nico couldn't put his finger down on just _what_ it was.

While Nico admittedly didn't remember as many of the details about their captivity as he had immediately afterwards – and there was thorough report sitting around in some forgotten corner of MI6 – there were some moments that were etched into his memory. _The arrival of Alex. The threats with the gun. The final torture._ The fine details, inconsequential ones in the midst of the bigger picture, were vague and indistinct.

Which frustrated him to no end.

So… Nico wrote his own timeline.

He wasn't about to give it to Alex – not when Alex had all but said that he was trying to remember things on his own. But… he needed it for his own peace of mind. To prove that he wasn't going crazy and that he hadn't imagined things. That there were things in Alex's timeline that just… didn't add up. At all.

There was a gap of four days between when Nico woke up with their captors and when Alex arrived. At that point, Alex had already injured his ankle – Nico had wrapped it on that first day. It wouldn't have been fit for running, not at that point. But Alex specifically noted a memory where he managed to slip away from the captors and run. Nearly made it out of the building – according to his memories.

That didn't fit anywhere in the timeline. Unless he had tried running when they first dragged him out of the cell. But… that didn't fit the personality Nico was familiar with. Alex wouldn't have left him behind at that point, not when it was clear that as soon as he stepped out of line, their captors were going to kill Nico.

It just didn't fit…

Alex hadn't stepped down from threats and had – admittedly, stupidly – fought back until he realized his fighting was endangering someone else. That didn't mean he cooperated though…

Nico rubbed at his forehead, flipping back and forth between the pages of scribbles. Little notes and jotted questions marred the pages, with some things frantically scribbled out and others circled numerous times. Reformed SCORPIA popped up several times – and Nico wondered at what kind of backstory Alex had to have gotten mixed up with them at a young age – but included a note that they had been wiped out several months earlier. Names such as _Dr. Three_ and _Argemone_ were circled with question marks and made little sense to Nico.

But the timeline just seemed off.

All because Alex had put several events as happening _before_ he had ever crossed paths with Nico.

_Out of order_.

Nico barely held back a flinch as Alex suddenly appeared beside him and flopped down into the chair. A glance at his watch told him that it had been on the shorter side of the expected four to five hours of testing. Which meant he had been staring at the notebook for far longer than he was comfortable admitting…

He cast a glance over Alex – all together exhausted. "Went well?"

Alex shrugged, letting his head fall forward. "It's over."

A small smile curled the edge of Nico's lip. "Well… we've got about an hour until Jacobs and Cameron get back. Anything you wanted to see?" It was true, there wasn't much to see in a small French city, but… they _had_ been cooped up for quite a while now.

Alex shook his head, staring at the notebook in Nico's hands. "Did you… did you take a look?"

Nico sighed, looking down at the notebook. It had bits and pieces of useful information. But… bits and pieces that didn't make any sense whatsoever. "For a bit, yeah."

Alex stared at him with wide eyes. For all his bravado, it was hard to remember that he was just a teenager mixed up in everything. Out of his depth. Just looking for answers. "And?"

"Well…" Nico weighed his words. There really wasn't much to go off of… but parts of it felt _off_. Out of place. "It looks… right for the most part."

"For the _most part_?"

"There's… _things_ that just don't quite make sense. Like… not so much in the order of things, but… that it _shouldn't_ be possible."

Alex stared at him. "What… what do you mean?"

"Well…" Nico flipped through the pages of the notebook, to where he had scribbled out a rough sketch of his own timeline. "Your ankle, for one. You mention running from them at one point, but you couldn't have, because your ankle was barely walkable in those first few days we met, much less a week later. _And_ you have mention of it bothering you in the same time period. And that implant… there was never a scar or a cut… that I remember. But there should've been. With your memories of it. I'm not… I'm not saying I don't trust your memories, but…" He gave Alex a long searching look. "There's something here that we're still missing, because the notes you have here don't match what I know."

Alex's gaze drifted and he nodded slowly. "Something still missing…" His gaze sharpened again. "You don't remember what all you put in the report, do you?"

Nico shook his head ruefully. "And I certainly don't have a copy."

"I have one."

Nico blinked. "What?"

" _Someone_ gave me a copy. But… I read it once and didn't remember it."

Nico stared at Alex. More than once he wished they could have figured out exactly what it was that had been causing the memory loss. Because the little implant on its own wasn't enough to have done everything. But at least it seemed like it was enough to break the chain of events… Still, the fact that Alex had done something as simple as reading, and hadn't been able to remember it afterward… It almost sounded like sci-fi brainwashing or psychological control, or something…

"I'm… tired of waiting for answers. Especially… if it doesn't all add up." Alex glanced down at the little notebook between them. "I'll read it in the next couple of days and see if it… sparks anything." He shrugged. "Thanks for the effort though."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask to see the report too, but Nico refrained. As much as he was curious just what someone had deemed important enough to make it into the final report… he suspected that if Alex got it directly from the source there were probably things he didn't want to share. Which… with how guarded he was about everything it was amazing that Alex had even volunteered up the information suggesting that he had the report in the first place.

Jacobs walking though the doors coming up from the stairs broke Nico out of his thoughts.

"Excellent. Ready to bust this place?" He asked, in Spanish. The lady at the receptionist desk was giving him the evil eye, but they were far enough away for her not to have heard anything.

Alex rolled his eyes and pocketed the notebook.

Nico highly doubted that he would ever see that notebook again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It lives! Sorry about the delay, between loss of internet for several weeks and then the end of the academic semester and final grades being due, this fell a bit by the wayside. But the good news, is I've got quite a few chapters written ahead. So provided no internet outage, you should get some consistent updates for a few weeks! Thoughts and opinions? What do you think is causing the inconsistency in Alex's timeline?


	31. Trust for Trust

At some point, the height of summer had crept in on them – and the safehouse wasn't exactly equipped with air conditioning. Although the stone walls helped keep it cool for a while, the only relief from the heat were the two industrial sized fans that Cameron had acquisitioned from somewhere. Alex wasn't asking. It kept the sweat from constantly sliding down his skin, even when he did nothing, so he wasn't going to complain that he had to _share_ a fan with the others.

It was almost August.

Somehow the days had slipped by and before Alex knew it, more than three months had passed with the SAS unit. And in some ways, he had hardly any more information than he had started with. Sure, getting the implant out had been a turning point, but… it had also left so many unanswered questions. Questions that Alex suspected Nico wanted answers to as well.

Why didn't the timeline add up?

Who was truly behind the kidnapping?

What was the meaning behind the discrepancies in his memories?

And what exactly, was the purpose of it all?

Nico's observations hadn't been much help – and then the heat had struck and any real attempt to do anything had just… been washed away.

Alex didn't like the heat.

_"Hottest heat wave in this region, in the past 100 years,"_ Nico had told him the night before. Alex had only managed to roll his eyes. It had brought an abrupt end to any attempts at exercising – which in turn pushed back any of the tentative plans he had in his mind. Because peak physical fitness was the key to _everything_.

Things were rapidly coming to a head and Alex knew that he was going to have to make some decisions. Soon. Although he had, in a way, come to trust the unit, he knew that it was only a matter of time before things spiraled out of control again. He might have control over his memories once again, but it didn't change the fact that _someone_ had come after him months earlier with the intent to get something from him. It wasn't likely that they had stopped just because he had disappeared from the. Likely, whoever it was, was just biding their time, trying to get around whatever protections MI6—and in reality, Jones— had put into place.

He was only safe for as long as those protections held – and then _everyone_ would be in danger again.

It was rapidly becoming clear that Alex was going to need to strike out on his own if he wanted any chance of surviving.

But it was also difficult to imagine a life where the only goal was to survive from one day to the next. Though he was hesitant to admit it, things _had_ gotten better since the last summer. He could manage a couple of days of undisturbed sleep. The anxiety in public wasn't as strong. The pure paranoia that had plagued him with every step… wasn't there all the time. And _her_ … thoughts of _her_ didn't cut quite so deep.

It went to show that ignoring everything and _not_ talking about it _did_ work. Sometimes.

But if he could manage that now… then running and hiding for the rest of his life… was very hard to imagine.

But it wasn't like _he_ could take down another international organization bent on killing him. _Could he?_

Along with the heat and the absolute lack of desire to be away from the fans had brought the unfortunate consequence that he still hadn't read the report. The nightmares had been less than helpful in the past several days and Alex knew he was reaching the end of what he could figure out on his own. Since Nico wasn't much help… he needed to read the report. But every time… something held him back.

Hesitation.

Fear.

Uncertainty.

Knowledge that as soon as he read it, there would be consequences. Either through his own choosing or imposed on him by _someone_. And despite the hot summer heat, Alex couldn't help the chill that ran through him at that thought.

* * *

The device mocked him.

Alex stared at the blinking cursor that asked for his password.

It had been one week.

The rains had come, cooling the air for a few days. Making life bearable for a short while.

Which meant that it was now or never.

He typed in the password and navigated to the appropriate folder. He held his breath as he double-clicked the folder and the pop-up appeared. ' _Warning: Contents accessed by AJR on June 2, at 3:00 pm. If you do not remember these actions, stop now.'_ Nearly two months ago. Although so much had changed in those two months, at times it felt like so little. Two months ago, he had been searching for answers.

He still was.

He bypassed those warnings and stared at a list of files that both looked familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. _D/F Report – 5.2.19, NMK Med Rep – 5.2.19, NMK Initial – 5.2.19, NMK Secondary – 7.2.19, NMK Post-op – 7.2.19, AJR Med Rep – 8.2.19, AJR Initial – 5.2.19, AJR Secondary – 8.2.19, AJR Post-op – 10.2.19, AJR Statement – 12.2.19, AJR Brief – 16.2.19_. Nine reports, all of which somehow contributed to the narrative that they knew about his time in captivity. Five of which held his own initials… and he could only guess that NMK was Nico. And D/F would likely be the report of units that had found them.

Alex started with that, casting an anxious glance toward his door. It was late enough at night that the others weren't likely to disturb him, but he couldn't help but admit that the only person he would be comfortable with looking over his shoulder at this point was Nico. Which… was quite a change in opinion over the past several weeks…

He put it off to think about some other time, and focused on the span of words in front of him.

It was indeed a mission report, which corroborated with what he already knew. It had been a fluke rescue. There were signs that someone else was puling the strings at that point, but all leads had dried up since then. But at least… at least it was the _same_ story he already knew.

The medical report was the easiest to read. Nico hadn't had _too_ many injuries. Not permanent ones, at least. But the other three reports were… more difficult to digest. It painted a picture that Alex found both difficult to believe, yet so… completely _him_ that it couldn't have been made up. Nico had been there for several days before Alex had appeared, but it wasn't until they were together that things started happening. And then, in very rapid succession. Alex's determination to not let another person fall victim because someone wanted to kill him… was completely on character.

And Nico's recorded agony over lying to him day in and day out to protect them both was chilling.

A few buzz words here and there – _Dr. Three, cooperation, waterboarding –_ but despite all that… nothing that should have triggered him. Which meant that there was still something else, something more, hidden within whatever reports they had managed to make from _him_. Because he certainly didn't _remember_ getting interviewed.

And well… the first date that Alex had been able to pinpoint in his memory of the hospital was the 11th of February, by which time there were already four reports prepared for him. He skimmed the medical report, but there wasn't anything in there that he didn't already know. Trace amounts of various drugs had been in his system, but that wasn't exactly a surprise either.

The other reports though… it was _all_ new.

_This report includes the complete oral report of AJR upon initial arrival. Follow-up reports will be appended. AJR was on strong painkillers, but was deemed competent to undergo questioning. This report was completed by Agent CC._

And what followed had Alex's jaw dropping. They had asked him questions about the captivity, about the questioning, about the damage done to him – and he had responded. In sentences and paragraphs. Details that he had long since forgotten, but that niggled those memories that he had been shoving to the back.

_CC: Did they ever identify themselves?_

_AJR: Bastards. Reformed… SCORPIA._

_CC: How about names?_

_AJR: Clyde… Vladimir… Norman Rogers…_

Which. Alex _knew_ that information right after. But had then forgotten it…?

_CC: What information were they trying to get from you?_

_AJR: What… MI6 knew._

_CC: Knew about what?_

_AJR: Reformed SCORPIA. Have a mole. A mole! (AJR begins to get agitated) They want Project Prism._

_CC: Project what?_

_Interview terminated. AJR went into respiratory arrest and was deemed unfit to continue questioning until after he had been treated._

Project Prism.

The name sounded _eerily_ familiar, but Alex couldn't put his finger on what. It seemed to echo with some of the half-remembered memoires that he hadn't been able to place accurately. But…

The second report was much of the same, but… there was significantly less detail. Similar questions, but answered vaguely or with a small _I don't know_. He had still been conscious and responsive – even though all medical reports from _after_ had suggested that he had been all but sedated for over a week.

_Jones… what were you looking for?_

The third report was the most disturbing though. Because Jones herself had been there. There was no way that the simple _TJ_ initials could be anyone else. And the questions had been exacting, with precise answers. Answers that he should have had, given that he had given those responses only days earlier. A damning sentence at the end told Alex all he needed to know about why he had blown up before.

_AJR shows signs of retrograde amnesia and needs to be monitored carefully for any sign of returning memory. Any and all information and questions about Project PRISM will be redirected to the appropriate channels._

She knew.

She… _knew_. Had an idea, at least.

Jones wanted him on such a tight leash because she was afraid that he would remember _something_. Something big. Something to do with Project PRISM.

Which…

He had no idea what that was.

But whatever it was, it concerned Jones.

Jones had been well aware that his memory was _erasing itself_ , but she hadn't ever brought it up. Hadn't ever mentioned it, even when he was spewing repeat information to her. She had just carried on as if it were a natural thing. That he couldn't remember everything because it was _traumatic_.

Alex glanced down at his wrist. But they hadn't… could they? Was it possible that Jones was responsible for the implant…?

The thought churned his stomach. But it wasn't impossible.

Jones could… could have done _anything_ in those few weeks. He wouldn't necessarily remember _any_ of it.

But then… he had that conflicting memory of some vague shape looming over him and cutting into his arm. That… couldn't have been manufactured. And it was before Jones had ever entered the picture. It felt like it was before _Nico_ had entered the picture. But that didn't make any sense either…

Alex groaned and let his head fall onto the desk. The more he learned, the less everything made sense. More and more gaps in knowledge were uncovered with each memory. Puzzle pieces that didn't fit into place or even next to each other.

It made his decision to keep the implant and recovery of his memories away from Jones seem all the more reasonable. She hadn't been forthcoming with him – there was no reason he needed to be. It was safer that way, since she was playing with all the cards close to her chest. It also went to reason that the SAS unit were far enough removed from her control that he could have a hope of trusting them.

But even that was going to have to change.

Jones didn't trust him. This Project PRISM held some sort of significance and she didn't want him associated with it.

He knew something.

_The house fire?_

Possibly.

Alex doubted that Smithers had given him any information on Project PRISM but it wouldn't hurt to check…

* * *

"Alex?"

Alex glanced up from where he had finally buckled down on some of the maths coursework. His brain had needed a distraction and for once, it seemed that maths was the key to that. It was _making sense_ unlike every other part of his life at the moment…

"Cameron's got some questions for you."

If that wasn't ominous though… "About…?"

Nico shrugged. "Didn't say. Mickey just got back from the drop, so it's a _team meeting_."

Alex cast a mournful gaze at his coursework, before pushing it to the side. Things had been going so well for the past several weeks. It was probably about time for _something_ to rock their boat. Though what Cameron could be questioning him about… Alex liked to think he had stayed fairly well under the radar for the past several weeks.

He was _cooperating_.

Something he had never quite thought he would…

Nico rapped his knuckles on the door once more. "Best not keep him waiting too long."

Alex rolled his eyes, but got up. Information drops had not held much for him so far, but… he couldn't help but hope Smithers might pass something more on to him. The remainder of the files had shone little light on the questions that Alex still had. There had been two brief reports that had related to his last hospital stay, one of which had mentioned the elusive Project PRISM again. A scouring of the other information Smithers had passed on found only a mention that an IAR had been in charge of the project and that most of the information had been lost following his death.

_Ian_ , of course.

Alex suspected that the project information somehow tied back to the house fire and the reason he had been there in the first place, but… there hadn't been _any_ sign of those memories coming back. It seemed that whatever they had been dosing him with had… how had they put it? _Specifically targeted memory formation_. And if the memories had never formed in the first place… there was no hope of getting them back.

Gone.

Kaput.

Nada.

Which was the reason he had gone looking for a distraction in the first place…

All four were waiting in the kitchen, though Nico and Jacobs seemed the most relaxed. Cameron was staring at whatever missive had been on the latest USB and Mickey… Mickey just looked grumpy.

Alex slid into the empty chair at the table and waited for whatever it was that Cameron wanted.

Cameron looked over the top of the laptop and fixed him with a stare. "Why the hell didn't you tell us you had a connection to another SAS unit?"

Alex stiffened. "What?" _The hell?_

Where was this coming from?

"This," Cameron tapped the USB on the table. "Said that you've not only been in contact with a _specific_ SAS unit in the past, but that some of the members met you _outside_ of Brecons. Which means that you've _been_ to Brecons."

Alex swallowed and looked away. Why was Jones revealing that _now_? First of all, that was highly classified information. Second… what purpose did it serve?

"You're not denying it." Cameron snorted. "Of course not. Alright then. Which unit?"

Alex set his jaw, mind working furiously. What was Jones' motive? There was little political ploy in letting them in on a potentially dangerous secret. There was no way she was going to reveal his ex-spy status – all hell would break loose. But… why? Had things been too quiet from him, too many _good days_ , and she needed to make sure that he was still having issues with his memory? Could it be that there was something even worse locked away in his mind?

Cameron rapped his knuckles on the table, catching Alex's attention. "Listen, I've played by your rules. I kept all that information back from MI6, even though I _know_ we could all get into a lot of trouble once this all blows over if that comes out. We're risking our necks, all on your say." He glanced at the others. "If you're still keeping secrets and MI6 can blindside us, then… who can _we_ really trust? So, you've got to give something now."

What was she gaining?

"Alex," Nico laid a hand on his shoulder. "You've got to give _us_ something…"

Alex glanced down at his hands and pondered what he could say that would satisfy them, without inadvertently exposing himself to more questions. "I… _knew_ a SAS unit, but that was nearly two years ago. I couldn't… tell you who, because I never learned their names." Except Ben. But Ben didn't really count anymore, anyway.

"But you know something about the units." Cameron stated. "You asked us which one we were, back in the beginning."

"And you wanted to know who rescued us?" Nico chimed in.

Alex grimaced. More than they should know. "It wasn't a _friendly_ relationship." Kicking a guy out of a plane generally didn't buy one too many brownie points. Though Wolf hadn't seemed to hold it against him, it was clear that there was little love lost between them. "Didn't want anything to do with them or their _buddies_."

Cameron raised an eyebrow at him, before tapping the USB again. "Then why did we get a note that said _known associates_ of yours are being targeted by whatever organization is after you – and then a note that Christopher McGillian was targeted just this morning."

"Christopher McGillian?" Real names certainly weren't going to get him anywhere…

Mickey crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, buddy of ours. Leader of his unit, good guy, though a bit of a stick in the mud. K-unit, a unit—"

"Wolf?" The word stuck in Alex's throat, but still escaped without his will.

"So, you _do_ know him." Cameron's eyebrows furrowed. "How and why?"

"Well… There was a… uh…" Alex fumbled for an excuse that was close enough to the truth to be believable. "There was this, uh, school. A boarding school. Got sent there for a while and it really wasn't… wasn't the place to be, you know? And, uh, Wolf was one of the people that helped me get out."

"Wolf helped you get out of boarding school?" Cameron snorted. "You expect us to believe that?"

Alex shrugged. It was as close to the truth as he was willing to get. Besides, mentioning that there were clones in that school was probably only going to push them further into disbelief…

"Alright, fine. At least you admit you know him. He was targeted yesterday – he's fine, by the way. Markus Fletch on the other hand… went missing about two weeks ago and his body was found about 100 miles north of here."

"Markus Fletch…?" The name sounded familiar, but… he couldn't place his finger on _why_.

"Your guardian, right after you were rescued?"

_The first one_ … The only one that he had a hope of remembering, though even then the memories were foggy.

But that led to the question _who_ was targeting them and _why_. There was little love lost toward Markus Fletch, but Alex didn't exactly want Wolf targeted just because he had been assigned to help him several years earlier. It also meant that whoever was coming after him was more than aware of his history and who had been influential in keeping him alive over the years.

Maybe they had thought he was hiding with Wolf… did that mean Ben was on the hit list too? The thought churned his stomach. Innocents, targeted because he _existed_.

"That's not even the strange part." Cameron shut the laptop and set it aside. "The strange part was this – our briefing instructed us to tell you this information and then report back any _reaction_ you had to the news."

_Jones_.

What was her goal?

"So, you offer an olive branch, we offer an olive branch. Information for information. Cooperation for cooperation."

Alex blinked. "You're trying to make a deal with me."

Cameron shrugged. "Far as I can see it, you're the only one who has made the most sense in the midst of all this. MI6 is dragging all of us along, though you've definitely got more information and tools than you let on. Someone is intent on taking you out, or capturing you – I'm honestly not sure which, at this point – and you seem a whole lot more intent on figuring out the _who_ than MI6 is. If it came down to trusting you or trusting the intel MI6 gives us, I'm pretty sure I can speak for the whole unit and say that you rank higher. And face it kid, we've grown fond of you. Don't really want to see you up and disappear, or be forced to live this kind of life for the rest of your life."

Alex stared at him, stared at the others. They were all nodding along.

They… _trusted_ him?

It seemed unthinkable.

Alex swallowed. "So… what do you want?" There had to be a catch.

Nico put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Give us a heads up before you try some harebrained scheme. Trust that we've got your best interests in mind and won't betray you. In return," Nico waved his hands at the others. "We're not going to change what we've been reporting. For the past month, just like the months before, there have been continued signs of outbursts and forgetfulness. You reacted badly to the news that someone was dead. Didn't want to talk about K-unit. The usual."

All that? Just by claiming to trust them? Alex narrowed his eyes. "And how do I know you won't go behind my back and tell them anyway?"

Cameron peered at him. "Was he always this suspicious?" He asked the room at large. "Whatever. Listen. We'll let you look over any missives we send out, if that would help. I'd let you go to the drops to prove we don't tamper with it, but that's neither safe nor advisable, because _anyone_ could show up to those. If the wrong person recognizes you, then it's game over. For now, you've still got a bit of anonymity. You have to show a least a bit of trust."

_Trust_.

That was what it was all coming down to.

Alex jerked his head in acknowledgement, but wasn't entirely sure that he was going to keep his side of the bargain. Which they were _trusting_ him to do in the first place.

But…

There were definitely benefits to having four well-trained individuals at his back. It reduced the constant anxiety because he _did_ trust them. But to trust them enough to believe that they would actively work against orders…? It begged the question of how far their loyalty toward him really went. And what they got out of it…

Alex licked his lips and glanced at each one of them. They all seemed to be earnest. But… "Have you… have you ever heard of Project Prism?" It would be the ultimate test. If MI6 heard about this, then Jones would know what was up.

Cameron reared back in surprise, before glancing at the others. "Actually, we have."


	32. Olive Branches

"You… have…?" _They_ , of all people, had heard of the PRISM project before? It couldn't be that easy. It wasn't possible that the answers had been sitting right in front of him this entire time. Right? After all, that would be astronomical luck.

_More MI6 meddling?_

Cameron peered at him, before shrugging slightly. "I don't know much, but we definitely came across it." He glanced over his shoulder at his unit mates. "Quite a few units were involved in some operations that I assume were connected to Project PRISM. But no one outright came and explained that. This was… what, four, five years ago?"

Four or five years was a long time – but maybe not in the realm of special ops and espionage. It still didn't answer the question of _what_ or _why_ , but if SAS units were involved, there was certainly reason enough for foreign organizations to be after the information. Even years later.

And it all somehow connected back to Ian.

"And?" Alex waved him to continue.

"I mean… that was when we were still relatively fresh," Cameron said. "Many of our assignments are based by the language of choice; our _specialty_. So, we usually get sent to Spanish speaking countries. It means that the majority of our on-duty, off-mission time is spent in Gibraltar, and from there we're shipped out to South and Central America every few months. Whenever there's something the higher ups think our skills would be useful for. Usually hostage negotiation or agent extraction – though to be fair, that has only been a couple of times. The time we spent in Spain was a bit of an oddity, to be honest." He sent Alex a rueful smile. "But four years ago, we were sent to Venezuela."

"We weren't supposed to know about the project," Mickey cut in. "But Jacobs has big ears and overhears a lot in the med tent."

Alex stifled a snort at Jacobs' glare, but focused on Cameron.

"He heard about this Project PRISM. An acronym, as far as we could tell, but I don't think any of us learned the details." He glanced at the others, but they all shook their heads. "It was very much _hush hush_. There were at least four other units in various parts of the country that were involved at this point, but I don't think they knew anything either. There were no explanations beyond our mission goal – to retrieve documents from the operatives."

"And _someone_ made the mistake of writing down Project PRISM in the final report," Jacobs grumbled.

Cameron winced at that. "The higher ups were… not _thrilled_ about that. Got sent to two months of refresher for potentially 'exposing state secrets.' Not our finest moment."

_State secrets_.

It still didn't explain it though. _Something_ happening in South America was incredibly vague. Getting information from an operative. What was it about this _Project PRISM_ that made the information so valuable…?

"That wasn't the last time we heard about Project PRISM though," Mickey added. "There was another… two years later. Also, in South America. Uruguay?"

"No, Paraguay."

He shrugged. "Whatever. Someone overheard it out of briefing – never made it into the report though, because we learned our lesson."

Alex kneaded his forehead. "But _what_ is it?"

Cameron shrugged. "Damned if I know. The higher ups might have loose lips, but they didn't give much away. The gist however, was that it was somehow counter-terrorism intelligence for the U.K. Long con ops, managed by some bigwig that only showed up once every few years. Two years ago was the last _I_ heard anything of it though."

_Two years._

The first piece of the puzzle that fit. If it was all somehow connected to Ian, two years was right on scheduled. Because Ian had been killed _two years_ ago. Everything had dropped off with his death. If he was in charge of managing some project and no one had taken it over… it suggested that information was missing.

Which…

Alex let his head fall to the table. It was all so confusing.

If any of Ian's files had been left behind, there were only a handful of places that they could have been stashed. Most of which were buried in the ruins of his old house.

Which had burned down around him for unknown reasons.

But those memories were _gone_. Permanently gone, as far as he could tell.

But there had definitely been a reason he had gone back to the house.

"So, we told you what we know. Time for some reciprocation."

Alex lifted his head to peer at Cameron skeptically. "What."

Cameron splayed his hands above the table. "You obviously know more about what's going on than we do – and we don't really expect you to freely share that information. However, we _do_ need to know what we're up against." He waved his hand toward the USB. "MI6 demanding we pass on information is a little… out of the ordinary. And you're obviously more… _familiar_ with them than we are."

Alex turned the words over in his head. Sure, there had been an olive branch, but… He still had no way of knowing that they were _actually_ being truthful about not passing things on. It could all be a test.

Of course… some of it _was_ practically public knowledge at MI6. Everyone there knew about Ian. Knew that Ian was an agent… If Alex misled them a little bit, while still pretending to give them what they wanted… it could be a win-win for all of them. "MI6 is… let's say part of the family business. My uncle was a spy, until he was murdered. I didn't know about any of this until after the fact, but I was already being targeted." Targeted at first by MI6, but that was semantics. It had all snowballed from there, going from bad to worse to absolutely horrific within a _very_ short period of time. "The director thinks she knows what's best for me, but she hasn't had a very good track record in the past two years of keeping me safe." Alex chewed on his lip, wondering if that would be enough to satisfy their curiosity.

Cameron peered at him for a long moment, before sitting back in his chair. "Okay. I'll take that." He tapped his fingers on the table. "But I'm going to trust you to give us a bit of a warning before you do anything stupid. We've… dare I say it, somehow grown fond of you and would like you to keep kicking."

Alex felt heat rise in his neck and glanced away from them. He hasn't set out to make others trust him, to make them _want_ to protect him.

He was better on his own.

But, for now… he supposed it wasn't doing much hurt.

* * *

A week later everything was thrown upside down again.

And it was a move Alex didn't understand.

Orders had come down from on high that they were to temporarily report back to London.

_LONDON._

Alex had questioned Jones' moves in the past, but this one made no sense. To move him back to the city that he had tried so hard to escape from… And the city where operatives from _who knows where_ would have easy access to him. It didn't sit right.

A sitting duck.

It made him wonder if for once and for all, he really _couldn't_ trust Jones to have his best interest in mind. At least with the moves before she had – admittedly clumsily – kept him away from whoever was tracking him down. To bring him back within their reach…

It stunk of suspicion.

Either Jones was giving up or she was trying to use him as _bait_.

None of the others had been particularly pleased with the orders either – though that was most likely related to the vague determination of an end date. They were soldiers, not MI6 slaves, after all. They were steadily creeping closer to their expected off-duty time. And though no one specifically mentioned it around Alex, he knew that they were wondering what the next steps were going to be.

He didn't expect them to give up their family lives just to _protect him_.

Knuckled rapped on the door frame. "Mickey's doing the final sweep. Good in here?"

Alex took one last glance around his room. It had held a lot in the past few weeks. Nightmares. Heart to hearts. Discoveries. A bit of redemption. But now, the sheets were back and tucked in. The quilt back in its rightful place. The desk was clear. No evidence that any of that had occurred at all. "Guess so."

Nico passed over a tightly folded paper. "The info for the border crossing. A group of foreign nationals returning home from holidays."

Alex raised an eyebrow at him. "And the teenager is explained how…?"

Nico shrugged. "Guess they figure you can pass for a university student – at least at a glance. The border shouldn't give us any trouble. We'll take the train across, swap vehicles once we're in the country."

Which meant that they were immediately having to trust that MI6 had their best interests in mind. That there was no possibility that the arrangements weren't already sabotaged. They would be working blind in a country where infinitely more possibilities were present.

But they couldn't play their hand too early either. As much as Alex wanted to just throw it all to the wind, he _knew_ better. Though he suspected that the SAS unit would follow him, even in direct defiance of their orders, there were still far too many unknowns. Too many risks to leave – but it meant that he in turn had to take risks to stay.

"If you're ready…?" Nico turned to leave. "Cameron wants to make the evening train out of Calais. And that's about seven hours from now. You'll have plenty of time to read that over."

Alex mused it over. That meant they were probably taking a more direct route. No circuitous routes that avoided cities.

_Something_ had lit a fire under MI6 and they felt it was safer to bring him back into their clutches. It was concerning. Especially since not even the latest update from Smithers indicated any reason for bringing him back.

There was, of course, the danger that someone other than Jones was calling the shots now. Whether they used her security code or not…

Alex grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. The days of relaxing and recuperating were over – at least until this latest curve-ball was solved. Everything he had learned over the past several weeks pointed toward far too many players in the shadows that were somehow controlling his movements, with Jones barely holding the playing pieces together. She had felt it was better to keep him completely in the dark, even when there was cold, hard, historical evidence that suggested that was the worst way to approach the problem.

He would just have to be ready for anything.

* * *

The border crossing into the UK had been remarkably boring. The way it should be. The immigration officials had glanced through their papers, stamped where applicable, and then waved them through – not even bothering to ask their reasons for entering the county. Even with such a mix of supposed nationalities and ages.

Of course, Alex also noted that they had missed the firepower that the SAS team undoubtedly had hidden throughout the vehicle. How the drug sniffing dogs and officials that gave the car a cursory check over missed it – and it certainly didn't make him have much faith in their ability to keep _real_ threats at bay.

So, in that case, it was probably good the SAS team had their weapons. At least Alex knew they weren't going to turn on him…

Which was more than he could say about any of his other MI6 assigned guardians, so that was probably a step in the right direction.

His shrink would probably have a field day with his newfound _trust_.

They crossed over the channel in a short manner of time and as promised there was another vehicle waiting there for them. Alex side eyed it as Cameron and Mickey looked it over carefully. It was too late at night for him to make out much more than it was a standard black SUV. And really, they hadn't killed him yet with the vehicles so…

Cameron came back, opened the back, and started pulling things out. "Get your stuff. We need to get up to London before midnight."

Alex glanced at his watch. That gave them a little over 2 hours. But it also meant that they were taking a fairly direct route once again.

It felt like a trap.

Nico seemed to sense Alex's hesitation. "Come on. Do you really think we'd let MI6 call _all_ of the shots?" He waved a hand at the waiting vehicle. "This was sent from Command Central, at highest priority with one of Mickey's contacts. Same with the safehouse. That was the only way we gave in to come back here."

Alex swallowed. "But why?"

"Why?" Nico looked puzzled.

"Why are we here? Why did Jones call me back?" There was some underlying threat. Something that she hoped to achieve by having him back under her thumb.

Maybe he had made too much progress.

Was too much better.

And now she thought she could convince him to what she wanted.

But then, that didn't mesh with the persona she had been pushing for the months previous.

_Maybe Blunt finally convinced her…_

Nico grabbed his shoulder. "We're going to figure that out. Until then, you're under _our_ protection."

Alex looked away. What had he done to deserve such loyalty? So far, all it seemed was that he was a stumbling block.

"Hurry up!" Cameron hissed. "We've got three minutes until the camera blackout rolls over and _I_ certainly don't plan to still be here."

Alex stared at him. _Camera blackout?_ "Is this related to Mickey's _contacts_?"

Nico gave a rueful grin. "I told you, we're in charge." He picked up Alex's backpack and tossed it to him. "Let's go before Cameron has an aneurysm."

Alex rolled his eyes, but followed along. Maybe being back in London wouldn't be _all_ bad.

* * *

It was _all bad_.

Within less than 24 hours, it became clear that the SAS unit had no intention of letting anyone near him – the other side to that was Alex wasn't allowed to do anything. Although they had thoroughly vetted the new safehouse in Bethnal Green, they hardly let him out of their sight. It was a semi-detached house, which meant it shared too many walls with the neighboring house for the SAS unit's comfort. Meaning no outings. No fresh air. Nothing.

Nada.

Zip.

Zilch.

And Alex was going stir crazy by the end of two days.

Nico, for what it counted, seemed to have some sympathy, but that hadn't resulting in any loosening of the restrictions.

They were worried about MI6 swooping in and taking over – with cause.

But it also meant that anyone and everyone was a potential enemy and threat.

Not to mention that Jones was the reason he was back in London in the first place. Her patience would only stretch so far – and Alex feared what would happen if she decided that the SAS could no longer be trusted. He didn't trust _her_ to make those types of decisions.

It all came to a head on the third day when Alex got a cryptic message on his music player. _'Weavers Fields 51°31'33.0"N 0°03'40.7"W. 2 pm, Thursday. Drop your tails, my boy. Jones has been keeping information.'_

Only one person had access to, or even knew, about this method of contact. _Smithers._

That was the only explanation.

And really, the only person that Alex was willing to tempt fate for. The only person likely to have information that Jones wasn't sharing.

He had two days to plan. And he would have to plan _carefully_.


	33. Smithers

Unlike the last time, this _excursion_ was going to be completed very carefully and there would be zero chance of Nico and the others finding him. If Alex had his way, there would be very little evidence that he had even gone out. It wasn't likely that Smithers would want to meet for longer than a handful of minutes. Too risky, after all.

It did make Alex wonder if Smithers had pulled some strings to get him back into the UK, but… that was almost too far-fetched. There was no way that whatever information was worth that much risk.

_Or was it_ …

Whatever the case, by the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, Alex was prepared. As far as the others were concerned, he was taking advantage of the confinement to power through papers and coursework for the science GCSE in the hopes of getting another exam out of the way before the summer officially ended. Since he was _focusing_ , the others were unlikely to bother him. It gave him the perfect opportunity to put his plan into motion.

Alex plugged the USB into his computer and pulled up the minesweeper. It showed that everyone was right where they were supposed to be in the house and that the neighbors were out at work. If they were even there in the first place… It was just as likely that it was abandoned. Nico was off for the afternoon, Cameron and Mickey were down by the front of the house, and Jacobs was in the surveillance room.

Content that no one was about to come bursting in on him, Alex pulled up the specially installed calculator and set a radius of 10 feet for the signal jammer and started it running.

_60… 59… 58…_

He had tested it out the night before and no one had even noticed the monitors in his room blinking out of existence. The alarms didn't go off when they were disturbed and Alex had been able to successfully climb out of his window.

_Which means that someone else could really do the exact same thing…_

_45… 44… 43…_

He shrugged the thought off, grabbed his music player and shoved a hat on his head. Though it was a bit warm for long-sleeves, no one usually thought twice about a teenager in a hoodie. His goal was to be as inconspicuous as possible.

_31… 30… 29…_

Alex went over and stood by the window. If they had noticed anything, someone would be moving before a minute was up. If he got caught… he would just shrug it off as wanting some fresh air.

_24… 23… 22…_

He slid the window open, taking care not to disturb the sensors. Just because he had jammed the signal for now didn't mean that he was infallible or knew how the systems worked inside and out. Maybe they had some hardwired fail safe that wasn't susceptible to signal jamming…

_9… 8… 7…_

Alex cast one last glance around his room. He hoped that if they did come and check on him, it would be obvious that he was up to no good. Though them finding out was _not_ a wanted option, it was probably better than them thinking he had been kidnapped or something.

_3… 2… 1…_

One full minute.

Alex slid out the window, onto the roof, and closed it behind himself. It was… eerily like what he had done _months_ earlier. Escaping from _them_. He used the minesweeper app on the music player to detect any sensors that had been put in the adjoining house.

_Nothing_.

Just in case, he turned on the signal jamming from the player before crossing to the adjacent window. It only took a moment to force it open and slip into the house.

Empty as far as he could tell.

The stairs creaked as he crept down them, continuously scanning to make sure there were no traps. He wouldn't put it past the SAS unit to have _something_ set up in an abandoned house. But… so far so good.

The front door faced the opposite direction of the safehouse they were in, so there was no chance of the unit seeing him come out. Though the possibility of camera surveillance wasn't completely ruled out. He would just have to hope that they were all pointed in a different direction, he was uninteresting enough, and that the signal jammer did its job. Which, Alex wasn't exactly sure cameras were within its job description…

_Act natural._

Like any teenager, he put his earbuds in and pulled up a quick map of the area, before setting off on his way.

_1:52._

Eight minutes to find Smithers. And he would be back before they even noticed him missing.

* * *

Being out in London was a very strange experience. It had been nearly eight months since he last wandered in an English-speaking country freely, and of a somewhat sound mind, on his own. Alex kept a wary eye on the people around him, but for the most part they fell into the category of non-threat. Nothing concerning. Nothing to send his paranoia into a tail-spin.

The park was only a handful of blocks away from the safehouse, meaning Alex was a few minutes early. There were plenty of other teenagers in the area, as school hadn't started back up yet, and there were even a few loners that made him look less conspicuous.

The GPS coordinates brought him to, as far as he could tell, the central statue of the park. He hoped it was actually where Smithers wanted to meet him, because trying to find him in the park would be… _difficult_.

_2:00_

His watch buzzed at him and Alex slowed his steps as he approached the statue. Of course, the last time he had seen Smithers… things hadn't been the best. There was the whole _fat suit_ thing too… Alex wasn't sure if he was supposed to be looking for _original_ Smithers or _real_ Smithers.

"My dear boy! Right on time."

Alex barely kept from flinching as a hand patted his shoulder, feeling almost like an electric shock.

"Sorry, sorry." Smithers gave him a genial smile. "Thought you saw me coming."

It was Smithers. Well, as much of Smithers as it could be in his _costume_. Alex gave him a quick once over, but… he seemed to be normal.

"Feel up for a bit of a walk?" Smithers tilted his head toward the far side of the park. "Best to keep on the move, you know."

Alex nodded, but was starting to regret his choice of sweatshirt. The temperature was warmer than he had thought and adding in more walking… it was going to get warm.

Smithers started shuffling away at a surprisingly rapid pace and Alex had to take some quick steps to not fall behind too much.

"Delightful to see you, old chap. That business in Spain was a bit much. Bad business, the lot of it." Smithers shook his head, casting a quick glance at Alex. "Though it seems you've had a spot of luck in the past couple of months. What's this I hear about passing two GCSEs?"

Alex blinked and shrugged. "Had a lot of time on my hands." He glanced down at his hand, which _almost_ looked normal now.

Smithers gave him a serious nod that made his jowls wobble. _How_ he could stand being in that _hot_ suit? "I don't have good news for you, my dear boy. Jones is keeping all the information tight to her chest. No one quite knows why you were recalled. Those of us who know anything, that is."

On one hand, Jones being secretive meant that whatever mole was in MI6 would have a much harder time finding any information out. But if they knew the right strings to pull on…

"I'm afraid I've only got a few minutes. Have a demonstration for Jones – have those gadgets been useful?"

Alex blinked. "Ye-yeah. Got me out today. Even—" He broke off. There had been reasons they hadn't said anything back to MI6 about the device in his wrist. Even though Smithers was trustworthy… there was too much risk that it could somehow get back to the wrong person. Even just pondering about a mysterious implant could tip someone off. And since they _still_ didn't know what or how it worked, that was too much of a risk. "Even helped when the others were being a little too overbearing."

Smithers chortled. "Got to keep them on their toes, dear boy."

Alex shrugged. It wasn't like he had _actually_ used it for nefarious purposes.

Smithers nodded down a less traveled path, not even huffing at the impressive clip he was walking. "Best to keep your cards to your chest as well. Strange dealings are afoot. There have been rumors that agents are going missing, but I haven't been able to track down any solid information." He cast a glance over his shoulder at Alex. "Markus Fletch was the last confirmed missing agent, but that was almost a month ago. No calling card."

"And no one knows who wants _me_?" Alex shivered, even though he wasn't cold. _It was hot._

Smithers veered toward an empty bench and sat down. "The motives are… _unclear_. Of course, some of this appears to tie back to your uncle."

"What?"

Smithers regarded him carefully, before gazing off into the distance. "There was a project in the 90s, headed up by Ian Rider for many a year. One of the greatest secrets of MI6. A project only spoken about in hushed stairwells. However, it seems that many of the files have just _disappeared_."

_Project PRISM._ It had to be. Alex opened his mouth to ask a question, but then thought better of it. Once again, Jones had no idea that he even _knew_ about Project PRISM. And the last thing he needed was for the people coming after him to have any idea that he remembered bits and pieces of those _missing files._

Because although he had been so certain that those memories in the house would never come back… _some_ were reappearing. Fragments of names and places. _Bolivia…_ some city named _Ushuaia_ … a woman named _Rocio_ … He shifted uncomfortably, feeling like the sun was blazing down on them. _Aware_ of what he knew.

"Whatever that project was," Smithers continued, solemnly, "powerful people want to get their hands on that information."

Alex shuddered. And they would go to any length to do so, it appeared.

"It's bad business, this all is." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a packet of papers. "I'm afraid I don't have answers for you. My only advice is that you get out while you can. I don't know what's happening here, but I'll tell you this. It's got a very nasty smell. Leave it. Don't pick up the phone. You should forget about us all."

_I don't know what's happening here…_ It was like a half-forgotten memory. Words he had heard _before_.

Smither pressed the papers into his hand. "That has everything you need so you can make a clean break. Go east. Or to Canada. You might be in hiding for the rest of your life, but you'd be alive."

Alex blinked down at the papers. _A new start_. It's what he had been wishing for, for almost a year. Just a way that he could _be_ without having to _always_ look over his shoulder. It was tempting.

_But Nico…_

If he left, that would take Nico and the others out of the equation. They could go back to their families, back to their normal lives. But… they would also all have targets on their backs.

Was it really fair to up and leave everyone else with the mess of a life that followed him around?

It wasn't his fault in the first place... but.

His breath caught in his chest as he contemplated the possibilities. Too many. And this only minutes-long meeting was making his head spin.

"Think about it. Though I recommend making your move before Jones calls you in."

And that was the kicker. Jones had brought him back to London for _something_. She was just as likely to manipulate him into doing something.

But it left the others unprotected…

"You look a bit warm, old chap." Smithers reached into his jacket once again and pulled out a bottle. "Water?"

Alex looked at it suspiciously, but it was _hot_.

Smithers gave him a rueful smile as he downed the bottle. "Shouldn't have opted for long-sleeves. At least, not if you don't have built in air-conditioning." He gave Alex a cheeky wink, then glanced down at his watch. "Well, I'm afraid our time is up. Jones will get suspicious if I'm late to our meeting. Keep your chin up and ears out."

Alex blinked at the abrupt ending. "Uh… thanks." He raised the papers, still not sure what he was going to do. "I… I will."

Smithers stood up, gave a jaunt little wave, and continued down the path. Alex just stared at him.

_2:14_

Not even fifteen minutes had passed.

Alex shoved the packet of papers into his hoodie pocket and pushed his one sleeve up. It was _far_ too hot to be outside.

Which was strange.

It was London, but France had been hot too. And he could stand more than a few minutes out in the sun…

He shook his head. It had not even been half an hour since he left the house. Very unlikely that they had noticed he was gone. He could just slip back in and no one would be the wiser.

Just… ten more minutes.

* * *

It only took ten minutes for _everything_ to go to hell.

Something was wrong.

Almost as soon as he had gotten up to start walking back, his neck had prickled. Like someone was watching him. He had hunkered down into his hoodie and started taking a circuitous route back to the safehouse.

It wouldn't do for anyone to follow him back, after all.

But despite his wandering, Alex couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed. That there was someone or _something_ there, just out of his sight. He had tried slipping into shops, pausing and acting like he was going to get onto the Underground, but nothing seemed to shake the feeling.

And the sun felt like it was blazing at a setting much higher than normal. Alex was almost tempted to shed the sweatshirt in hopes of making back to the safehouse not completely drenched in sweat.

But the freedom of being out of the sweatshirt would likely not surpass the attention it would draw toward him.

Not that he was doing well at not drawing attention.

Alex twitched and looked over his shoulder _again_. There was no one there. Not a soul. An empty street.

"Hey!"

A sudden squeal of tires pulled him from his momentary paranoia. Alex stumbled back from where he had just about stepped into the roadway.

"Watch where you're going!" The driver yelled at him as he passed.

The creeping sensation on the back of his neck increased, and Alex threw all caution to the wind.

_Get back_.

Of course. Why hadn't he considered it? _Someone_ could have easily followed Smithers. _They_ were so good at popping up and infiltrating anywhere, there was no saying what they could have done. He could be leading them right back to the others, but… at least the others had firepower.

Alex took off running, only catching glimpses of landmarks as he tried to find the most direct route back to the safehouse.

_Faster_.

_They're coming._

He glanced over his shoulder, looking for his pursuers, but clearly, they were good at their job. No one in sight.

He didn't pretend that he had lost them.

_Almost._

_There._

The running practice had been good. But it hadn't prepared him for running under the blazing sun. Temperatures that felt ridiculous. He was gasping for breath. Felt like he hadn't run in months.

The safehouse was just around the corner.

Alex could still feel the pursuers. They were there. Somewhere.

_The safehouse_.

Alex didn't care about the old lady yelling at him as he sprinted past. There was one goal, and one goal only.

The front door.

He all but ran into it, no doubt alerting anyone within the house that there was something strange going on. He rattled the doorknob.

_Locked_.

He gasped for breath, trying unsuccessfully to catch it.

_It shouldn't be so hard_.

There were still other coming. They'd be here soon.

"Let me in, let… me-in," He pounded his fist on the door. Someone would come. They would. "They're coming… they're… coming." He spun around, still banging on the door, but scanning the streets. Looking for the person out of place. They _had_ to be there.

The door opened abruptly behind him, knocking him off balance. "Alex? What?"

Alex stumbled into the entryway, still trying to catch his breath. "Comin'… Someone followed him…"

Cameron peered at him. "What? Who?" He glanced out the entryway, before slamming the door shut.

"Smith-Smithers…"

Cameron spun on him. "What the _hell_ were you doing out there? What happened to trusting us before doing anything stupid?" His shouting was likely to rouse everyone in the house.

_Good._

_Safer._

"Someone… some…" Alex gasped. He wasn't out of shape. He _wasn't_. But it was so hot. And he felt like he hadn't had any water in _days_.

Mickey appeared in the doorway. Footsteps were thundering down the stairs. They were here.

The threat was outside.

A flash of concern crossed Mickey's face. "Hey, hey, what's going on? Are you okay?"

"'m… fine…" The room was starting to spin. Something was off.

_Danger._

_Danger._

Nico appeared. "What's going—Alex?"

"Just can't… can't… find my breath…" There were… more important things going on. "Not… not _safe_." Alex tried to take a step away from the entryway. _Safer at the back of the house_. But his legs didn't want to move. Sluggish. Heavy.

Alex swayed and then his legs gave out completely. He was so _hot_. And he couldn't breathe.

"Alex!"

He hit something before the floor, but he couldn't tell which way was up. Didn't know how to get across to them that they were _in danger_. Not when it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on his chest.

"Hey, hey kid." _Jacobs_. _When had he appeared?_ "You with me?"

Alex wanted to open his eyes. Wanted to tell them to _get out_ of the entryway. But he _couldn't breathe._

Sounds were getting further away.

Muffled.

_Not good._

"—call… bosses… medical transport… won't have… kid to keep safe!"

Alex needed to warn them. But his tenuous grasp on everything just… slipped away.


	34. Authorization

_Alex looked like he had seen a ghost._

_What was he even doing outside…?_

_"—you okay?"_

_"'m… fine…"_

_He didn't look fine. His face was pale, sweaty. He was breathing like he had just run a marathon._

_But Nico knew he had just been upstairs._

_Hadn't he…?_

_"What's going—Alex?"_

_Alex stumbled, learning forward like he was just going to collapse._

_"Just can't… can't… find my breath…" He seemed to pull in on himself. "Not… not safe."_

_Nico shared a glance with Cameron. What was going on?_

_And then it was like the speed in the room had been put back up to speed. Alex took a stumbling step and then just… crumpled in on himself. "Alex!" Nico darted forward, catching him before he could hit the floor._

_And that was it. Alex gasping for breath on the floor, completely unresponsive to Jacobs' calls. Nico felt in a daze. Then Jacobs started yelling at Cameron to get medical help, because Alex was likely to die on them otherwise._

* * *

Nico still wasn't sure this wasn't some sort of horrible dream. A nightmare.

How could they have messed up so badly?

Everything had spiraled out of control in only a matter of minutes. And from there, everything had just _changed_.

Because by the time the ambulance had arrived, Alex had stopped breathing.

Mickey had all but dragged him back into the house, muttering that Cameron and Jacobs were more than enough to keep Alex safe on the trip to the hospital. That Nico couldn't be any more help. That he would just get in the way as they tried to _save Alex's life._

And in the three hours since they had arrived at the hospital, Nico hadn't gotten a single update. Just Mickey dragging him into a private waiting room in some swanky hospital in uptown London. The two times Nico had tried to get up to pace, Mickey had just pulled him back down into the chair.

Nico glanced at the clock, oh so helpfully provided, and watched the second hand tick by.

Countless things could have happened in the past three hours.

There were people trying to _kill_ Alex, after all.

Who knew what was happening at an unsecured hospital?

Alex had been upstairs studying. What had happened? How had he gotten downstairs without passing Nico? And why had he said it was _not safe_?

His knee bounced, jittery with nerves.

No news was good news, right?

It meant that Alex wasn't… _dead,_ yet. But he wasn't okay either.

Mickey's phone buzzed for umpteenth time and Nico glared at it. He _knew_ the others knew more right now, but Mickey certainly wasn't sharing, and Jacobs and Cameron hadn't reappeared.

Mickey let out a sigh and his posture relaxed. He looked up at Nico with a faint smile. "They've got him stabilized."

 _Stabilized_. Not, _he's okay_. Just stabilized.

"Jacobs is coming down and he'll take you up. I'll keep an eye on things down here."

Nico exhaled. Right. They couldn't leave Alex unprotected. Not now.

"Hey," Mickey nudged his knee. "I get it. This is different. We'll figure out what happened, and… You're not the only one that cares about the kid."

And that was the problem wasn't it? He cared so much that he had turned useless.

He was compromised.

If Central Command ever found out, he – and likely the others – would be take off quicker than they could say _leave_. And that would be it. That would be the end. After whatever death-defying stunt Alex had just pulled, it wouldn't matter, and Central Command and MI6 be as quick to pull his one support out from underneath.

Whoever was after him wouldn't be able to ask for a better situation.

Vulnerable.

Alone.

 _A set-up_.

And there wouldn't be anything any of them would be able to do.

* * *

"As far as they can tell, it was an attempt at poisoning." Jacobs had taken the empty chair across from Nico and Mickey. His shoulders were slumped and he looked exhausted. "Now, mind you, I'm only a medic, but… someone wants him _dead_. It took quite a few tries to get anything pinned down and for the first hour they were just trying to treat the symptoms. His heart stopped twice. Once, just as we arrived, and again about an hour ago."

Nico blanched.

"The good news is they know what he got hit with and have stabilized him enough to start treatment."

"So, he's not out of the woods?" Mickey asked, with a glance at Nico.

"No," Jacobs sighed, "but the doctor told me that now they know what was causing the initial symptoms, they're confident he'll improve in the next couple of hours."

Nico swallowed. They were still just looking at improvement. Far too much could happen in a couple of hours. "What… what happened?"

"We… don't really know. Cameron figures that Alex left the house at some point, earlier in the afternoon. While he was up studying. Wherever he went…" Jacobs pinched the bridge of his nose, "Someone got close enough to dose him with a deadly amount of phenobarbital. It would've been lethal if he'd not made it back. He obviously realized it, since he didn't try to sneak back in, but…"

That _stupid_ kid.

Although Nico would very much like to shake him and try to make him see sense, he would be equally happy to just _see_ him.

"So, someone's actively trying to kill him, but for all we know, he went out to meet them." Mickey crumpled up the paper cup in his hand, and threw it across the room into the bin. "Brilliant. And what has MI6 had to say about all this?"

Jacobs shrugged. "Handler said they would send an agent. Haven't seen anyone yet, but honestly… I wouldn't be surprised if this was an inside job." He stood up and nodded toward the door. "I'll take you up Nico, but it's not pretty." He cast a glance at Mickey. "Keep an eye out. Let us know if you see anything suspicious."

Nico followed Jacobs up through the hospital, thankful that Jacobs seemed to know that he didn't want to talk. They passed through doors that had _'Authorized Personnel Only'_ written on them. How… Nico wasn't going to ask. But they were certainly passing through to the section of the hospital less travelled by the casual visitor. Jacobs must've had a pass or something, because no one stopped them on their way, though they received a number of skeptical looks.

Jacobs paused outside a pair of doors that proclaimed _'OR SUITE 4'_. "Listen, he looks… rough." Jacobs cautioned. "They have him intubated and are filtering his blood for the toxins. He's not awake and we pray to god he stays that way for a while, but they can't risk sedating him."

Nico clenched his jaw. "I've seen this kid get tortured." And if that didn't mean he couldn't just swallow down anything that happened… well… That was a problem for whenever he managed to get back to a psychologist.

Whenever that was, whoever that was, they were going to have a mountain of things to unpack.

Jacobs gave him one last long glance, before slowly opening the door.

With a lead up like that, Nico was half expecting to see a theater filled with blood or something. Instead, it looked pristine, not even that many people present. He barely registered Cameron, standing off to the side, his eyes only for the boy laying in the middle of the remaining commotion. There were machines and monitors, tubes and wires, but underneath it, Alex just looked pale and exhausted. Some of the tubes had red flowing out of them, and Nico tried not to think about what _that_ might mean.

"He's doing a lot better, even from when Jacobs went down," Cameron said from the side. "They say he's already responding to treatment, but it'll be a couple of hours before he'll be out of the danger zone."

Nico gave a jerky nod.

"Don't worry," Cameron patted Nico's shoulder. "I'm sure he'll wake up soon enough so you can give him a good scolding for being a _dumb idiot_."

Nico suppressed a snort.

But seeing him… although it was clear Alex wasn't _okay_ , there was enough evidence that he was at least better than when they had carted him away from the safehouse.

Of course, now they would have to deal with the aftermath of it all. Would MI6 allow them to continue their posting? Was this all an elaborate setup that allowed _someone_ to get critical access to Alex and he would still die on them? Or was everything just a coincidence and would work out fine in the end?

_Coincidences didn't exist…_

Nico saw Cameron straighten up imperceptibly out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see what had caught Cameron's attention, and noticed for the first time the casually dressed man hanging at the back of the room. "Who's that?" He muttered under his breath.

"Suit." Cameron said, before waving the man over.

The suit gave Nico a skeptical glance. "Is this the guardian?"

"Ye-yeah…"

The suit cast a glance at Alex. "I realize this isn't easy, but legally speaking, paperwork needs to be filled out." He held up a cautious hand. "For the hospital, mainly. We're keeping this out of the usual channels."

At least they seemed to realize that their organization posed some sort of threat to Alex… But they were MI6. They could do just about anything under the eyes of the crown and be at no fault. "And you need me for…?"

The suit gave him a cautious smile. "You're his guardian, are you not?"

Nico snorted. Only because MI6 had decided that that was the optimum choice at the time. He had no doubt that they couldn't take it away just as quickly. And probably would if they had realized how… _attached_ he had become.

"If you're worried, your friends can keep an eye on him. There's just a little paperwork to be done and then I'll be out of your hair." He tried to give him a reassuring look, but it fell flat.

Nico shared a long glance with Cameron. He didn't exactly want them to split up, but then it would be pretty obvious if the suit tried to off him…

"Go on, then," Cameron said, "We'll be here when you're finished."

The suit led the way out of the room and into a side room that was probably a staging area for the nursing staff. The suit waved Nico into a chair, across the table from him. He slid a bag off his shoulder and pulled out a stack of papers, and the one on top had the logo of the hospital.

They spent a long moment mutually gauging the other, before the suit finally spoke.

"Listen, I hope you all are as smart as the reports make it seem, because that…?" He nodded toward the OR. "That does not look smart. Alex was seriously injured under your watch and many of the higher ups feel that that's course for removal from his case. He has a track record, you understand."

Nico opened his mouth to protest, but the suit motioned for him to wait.

"Of course, I managed to do a little bit of digging before my superiors sent me here. Your safehouse was compromised, I hope you realize." He pulled out a familiar music player and placed it on the table. "You may or may not recognize this. However, for the past three months Alex has been using it as a form of contact with an individual he believes was connected to _our organization_. That individual impersonated someone Alex trusted, asked for a meeting to disclose classified information, and subsequently poisoned him."

Nico blanched. Alex had gone out to get information. He was probably just as frustrated as the rest of them were by the lack of communication and the lack of knowledge as to why they were called back to London in the first place. "So, they tried to kill him."

The suit shrugged. "That's unclear. It doesn't match the MO, but then, I'm sure you're realizing that none of us have the entire story. Only Alex does. And your reports have commented on how… _unreliable_ his memory has been the past couple of months." He sorted through the papers, pulling out a nearly blank one and pushed it across the table toward Nico. "Of course, my superiors are unsure what to do about the memory issues and the current threats to his life."

The suit tapped the paper somewhat forcefully, and Nico glanced down to read it.

 _'MI6 NOT SECURE. CONTINUE WITHOUT ORDERS._ '

Nico's eyes widened at those six words, and looked up at the suit, alarmed.

The suit gave a sharp nod, before pulling a coffee cup out of his bag as well. He crumpled the paper up and shoved it into the liquid. It started disintegrating immediately. "Arrangements are being made for Alex to continue treatment here. Myself and my immediate superior are the only ones aware of Alex's location. You, of course, do need to sign off on some things, however the hospital does tend to take some liberties where minors are concerned." He pushed the rest of the papers across the table, along with a pen. "I'll give you a moment to read through things, but rest assured that you only really need to include your signature for legal purposes."

Nico glanced at the papers, but the suit was completely serious.

He was _not_ made out for covert operations…

The first few pages were standard consent to treat and privacy forms. Five pages in however, was another nearly blank sheet.

 _'CC PROVIDES UNILATERAL AUTHORIZATION FOR AWOL ACTIONS.'_ There was some General's signature next to it, probably a high ranking one, too.

_'SHARE WITH UNIT LEADER ONLY; DISCARD IMMEDIATELY.'_

Nico glanced up at the suit again, this time nodding between the paper and the cup. The suit nodded, hopefully confirming that the paper would work the same way. Nico was a little worried it would disintegrate in his hands, so he carefully folded it and put it into his pocket.

Cameron was going to lose his mind.

They were going AWOL.

Off the grid.

No support.

At least, those actions had been cleared for them. And really, it was the only way to protect Alex.

Nico signed the last of the papers and pushed them back to the suit.

The suit gave him a hesitant smile, before placing the papers back in his bag. "I'll be back to check on things in… about four days. Alex should be awake and finished with treatment by then. If anything comes up before then, I'll let you know."

Which, if Nico was reading things right, meant they had a couple of days, three at most, to _get out_.

"Right then, Lieutenant Kendrick, your unit is officially removed from protection duty effective in 7 days. Suitable replacements will be determined and set in place before that period is up." The suit stood up, clearly finished with his business, though Nico wondered just _who_ the show was for. The music player was still on the table and the suit nodded toward it. Nico grabbed it, though he wondered what use it would be if it had been tampered with by an enemy.

Of course, there was no telling what exactly was going to happen.

There was no way to verify that everything the suit had said was even _valid_. Not without potentially blowing whatever was left of their cover.

The suit led the way out of the room, before gesturing back to the OR door. "I'll make my way from here." He started to walk away, before turning around and giving Nico a peculiar glance. "Oh, and when Alex wakes up, tell him that I said he should be more careful in the future."

Nico snorted. "And just who should I tell him said this?" Because he certainly wasn't going to just say a _suit_ told him that.

The suit just gave him a brilliant smile. "Just tell him Ben says 'hi.' He'll know who it is." And the man turned and walked away without another glance.

 _Ben_.

Nico shook his head and went back to the OR. He had bigger issues to deal with than mysterious suits. Like convincing Cameron that they had to make a plan, and _quick_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick disclaimer, I am not a doctor and do not pretend this is in any way medically accurate, or even feasible. Just enjoy it for what it is. It's been a hot minute, but I finally have internet back in my apartment, and thus, an update. Sorry for leaving you on a cliff hanger. But it's only going to get worse from here...


	35. Ben

Although Nico suspected that things would go quickly once they realized what they were up against, the reality was that there was very little that they could do before Alex woke up. Cameron had been… less than pleased at the sight of the paper, but had conceded that he recognized the general's signature – and it wasn't one that could easily be forged. There were apparently _things to look for_ to spot a forgery.

As it was though, Mickey and Jacobs had been tasked with coming up with a suitable escape plan – without having access to any of their usual resources. Alex's MP3 player would have come in handy, but Nico was both unsure as to the safety of using the device, and didn't exactly have access to it. It was locked with a password that only Alex knew.

He shot a glance at Alex, who had yet to wake up.

_8 hours…_

The doctors said that the longer he stayed asleep the better, but that didn't make Nico any less antsy. Alex still wasn't out of the woods, though apparently whatever blood filtering process the doctors had done was enough to get him through the worst of it. And they couldn't sedate him any longer because of too many _risks_ for further complications.

So, in some ways, not waking up was a merciful process. It was just if it went on for too many more hours, then it was likely that irreversible consequences had already occurred.

And no one really wanted to think about that.

"Any change?" Cameron entered the room with a cup of coffee for Nico. He had left just long enough to touch base with Mickey. For now, the team was truly split.

Nico shook his head. "The nurse came by and said they'd give him another two hours before starting another treatment."

Cameron pursed his lips and sighed. "Mickey is putting some feelers out to see what old favors he can cash in. That'll probably get us as far as the getaway vehicle, but beyond that…" He shrugged.

There wasn't much they could do or say to get help from others without raising suspicion. And as soon as they were officially tagged as AWOL – on mission, no less – they would be blacklisted. Any contacts they had had would dry up. The best bet would be to get out of the county.

And even that would be nigh on impossible without new papers. Or something.

"We have three days."

Cameron slouched in the chair, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is _far_ beyond anything training covered. We have almost no resources and a shoddy plan." He waved a hand toward Alex's sleeping form. "And we don't know what kind of condition he's going to be in. Or what kind of treatment he's going to need over the next couple of days and weeks. He nearly _died_."

Nico swallowed. His own fears echoed by his leader. But also… what were they supposed to do? Give up on the kid? "But, we can't…" He trailed off, not sure of what to say or do.

Cameron gave him a beseeching glance. "Gods, Nico, you know I would never sacrifice a child to _terrorists_. But… we need something more to work with. We can get out of here, do our best for him, but what next? Unless we get some mysterious benefactor or better resources, we're going to be hightailing it away from the intelligence agency of this country, probably from every country, if we're being honest – alongside those terrorists who want _him_!"

Which, that was the issue. As soon as they were AWOL, it would only be a matter of days before MI6 interviewed their families and known contacts, asked about their last known whereabouts. It would set all their families into a panic – and there was no end in sight. No solid knowledge that in a couple of weeks, it would all be over.

This had already gone on for months. And clearly MI6 was no closer to solving their problems…

Alex shifted on the bed, catching both of their attentions. His breathing hitched a couple of times, before he settled down again, and didn't show any other signs of waking up. Even so, it was more than they had seen in hours. Nico felt a fraction of the panic and worry slip away.

"Just a matter of time," Cameron said in a hushed voice. "Mickey and Jacobs will get something together, and we'll do what we do best."

Nico let the edge of his mouth curl into a smile. "Doing the impossible."

* * *

It was nearly a full day, and two treatments, before the doctor firmly put Alex in the _recovering_ stage. Alex had managed an interspersed smattering of minutes awake, not long enough to string together a coherent thought, but enough to indicate that his ordeal was far from over. Nico took it as a good sign that Alex had cast suspicion towards the doctors, but not toward him or Cameron. No major brain injury to worry about, it seemed.

Cameron and Jacobs had swapped out at some point, and Jacobs had _somehow_ managed to get his hands on the charting notes. It painted a bleak, but not hopeless, picture. Alex was supposed to be on oxygen for at least the next week, and limited physical activity for two weeks. He had broken ribs and there were concerns that he would experience withdrawal symptoms from the one-time poisoning.

Time would only tell.

Jacobs popped his head into the room. "Coffee?"

Nico shook his head. He needed to sleep at some point, but was the first to admit that that hadn't exactly been his priority. "Tea?"

Jacobs gave him a long assessing look. "You know the chair reclines, right?"

Nico snorted. "I'll explore my options when you get back." He wouldn't be able to take a nap if it felt like they were unprotected. It was bad enough that _he_ didn't have a gun. Just his knife strapped to his boot. It wouldn't do much against a prepared intruder, but he was hoping that it wouldn't get to that point. That's what Jacobs was for, anyway.

Some friendly nurse had given them access to the television in the room – a definite perk of being a government protected entity meant private rooms, no questions asked – so Nico scrolled through the offerings. They had all been somewhat out of the loop for the past four months, so the major news stories were unfamiliar. Nothing shocking though.

It was just like they had stepped out of time for a bit, just getting a glimpse at the real world again, before they'd have to step back once again.

The captioning on the set was trash though, making some of the stories incomprehensible. But he wasn't about to turn on the sound, not for fear of disturbing Alex.

He was in the midst of trying to decipher what point the PM was trying to make at some news briefing, when Alex groaned and tried to roll over. He quickly decided that was a bad idea, though Nico doubted he would have gotten very far with all the monitors, wires, and tubes still attached to him.

Alex groaned again, before rolling his head to the side and staring at Nico. Or at least, _tried_ to stare at him. "Wuz goin' on?" He slurred.

First coherent thought and he was already demanding. Nico set the remote to the side and leaned closer with a small smile. "Hey, kid."

Alex squinted at him. "'m not kid. Told you… before."

Nico let out a sigh of relief. They had argued about that on a number of occasions. Alex _remembered_. He cautiously brought a hand up to his face and tugged on the mask. Nico caught his wrist and pulled it away. "Nope, you're listening to doctor's orders. So, that, stays on."

Alex frowned, but his hand fell limply to the side. His eyes closed for a long moment, and Nico almost thought that would be the end of the coherence for the time being. But he seemed to rally his strength for a moment longer and gazed at Nico. "What… happened?"

Nico sighed and stared at him. "Well… we were hoping you could shed some light on that. You left the house, managed to get poisoned, and barely survived."

Alex's face paled. "Shit."

Nico snorted. "Yeah, shit is right."

Alex squeezed his eyes shut. "Stupid."

"Yeah," Nico looked at the teenager. Because it was really easy to _forget_ he was still a teenager. "It was stupid. But it sounds like you were manipulated by someone you trusted."

Alex swallowed. "Smithers."

The name wasn't familiar, but if it was who Alex met – it meant they had hope of actually getting some answers in all of this.

A sharp rap on the door startled both of them, and Jacobs popped his head in the doorway. "Found a straggler looking for you. He wants to come in to _talk_." He caught sight of Alex and smile spread across his face. "You're looking a lot better."

A grimace crossed Alex's face as he tried to shift on the bed.

"I'll see if we can get you some more painkillers." Alex opened his mouth, likely to protest, but Jacobs cut him off. "No arguing. You've got broken ribs and we need you functional and coherent." He sent a significant look in Nico's direction, before opening the door wider and allowing the visitor inside. "You've got three minutes."

Nico's eyes widened at the sight of the suit. They were supposed to have four days, before he reappeared. Four days before they had to all vanish. There was no way they could have done something this quickly – especially with Alex having _just_ woken up.

"Ben!" There was a note of… excitement?... in Alex's voice. He knew the suit.

Which really shouldn't have been a surprise, given that _Ben_ had said Alex would know the name. Not that Nico had had a chance to pass on the message…

Ben gave him a slight smile, before pulling a manila envelope out of his jacket. "Good to see you're awake, Alex."

Alex visibly sagged, eyes drifting shut again. "Jones is reassigning, isn't she?"

Ben shot a glance at Nico. "Yes, but I'm assuming you haven't been brought up to speed yet."

"He _just_ woke up." Nico said.

"I'll let your friends explain then," Ben said, pulling a chair up next to Nico. "They're going to help you. You've just got to trust them."

"I _do_ trust them…"

Ben snorted. "So much that you left your safehouse. _Again_ , I might add."

Alex's brow furrowed. "Smithers was there. Had… information."

So, Alex _had_ met with someone. That almost made it seem better than him just going out for a lark.

Ben leaned forward, a cautious expression on his face. "Alex, no one has heard from the real Smithers in over a year. He went missing after Cairo."

"But he…" A betrayed expression crossed Alex's face. "I _saw_ him."

"I'm sure you did. Someone stole one of his last remaining suits a few weeks ago. And the agent who was responsible for coordinating your schooling was… compromised. They manipulated you with gadgets and promises of information that Jones wasn't ready for you to see." He sat back, with a sigh. "They've duped many a skilled agent in the past several months. Jones is working on cleaning house, but… you need to be out of the picture for that to happen."

Nico cleared his throat. "Hence the orders?"

Ben nodded. "Hence the orders."

Alex blinked slowly. "Orders?"

"I'm sure Lieutenant Kendrick will fill you in when you're feeling a bit better."

Alex wrinkled his nose at the title, but nodded slightly. Nico was impressed he had stayed awake as long as he had. He looked exhausted.

"I've got some paperwork here that will hopefully make your lives a little bit easier." He passed the manila envelope to Nico. "It'll stand up to regular scrutiny, but, you know, don't get arrested or anything."

Nico peeked into the envelope and saw passports, money, and bank cards. Everything they would need to legally get out of the country. "How…?"

Ben smirked. "I said some agents were compromised. It's not surprising that information that they worked with just _mysteriously_ disappeared. It's in all the appropriate places, but anything more than a cursory glance will probably raise some red flags.

Alex's brows furrowed. "And we can… trust you?"

"For now. I know you don't trust Jones, but she's… _concerned_ about you. This is much bigger than you or me, though you appear to be their biggest target. If we can temporarily get you out of the picture, I, and a few others that have been vetted, might have a chance to cripple them from the inside."

"Motivation?"

"Aside from trying to keep this country safe?" Ben raised an eyebrow at Alex. "Listen, Wolf nearly got killed and the others were pulled into protective custody. They might not be my unit anymore, but I'm not about to let anything happen to them. And if our best chance at taking them out is getting you somewhere untouchable, then that's priority."

_Wolf_.

That was the leader of the unit Alex had mentioned knowing. Which meant that this Ben character was ex-SAS and had some inkling as to how things worked within a unit. And knew what going AWOL could potentially mean for their careers, despite the higher ups support.

Clearly, he had defected to MI6 at some point, leaving his unit behind. Not unheard of, but not common either. It meant that the four-person unit had to fill in the space left behind with someone new.

Alex sighed, then grimaced.

Right.

He was still in pain.

Alex was hardly awake, but still asking – demanding – coherent questions.

There was a knock on the door, and Jacobs entered. "Three minutes are up. More than. Someone's coming with more painkillers." His gaze landed on Ben. "I suggest if you don't want to run into anyone else that you make your leave now."

A slight smile crossed Ben's face. "Of course." He patted Alex's shoulder gently. "Rest up, kid."

Alex scowled, no doubt at the kid comment, but it seemed that his energy reserves were coming to an end.

Ben stood up and headed to the door. He paused as he was about to leave. "I fixed up your music player. You don't need to worry about anything tracking you or left there by not-Smithers. Should work the same as it did before." He side stepped the nurse on his way out.

Alex huffed as the nurse checked him over, but seemed to drift off rather quickly.

Jacobs settled into the chair next to Nico. "They were out of tea."

A hint of a smile curled Nico's lips. "A travesty."

"Cameron will be up in a couple of hours, so I'm sure whatever just happened can wait until then. You need a nap."

Nico rolled his eyes, but didn't bother arguing. It had been a long day so far, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the latest installment! Hope that answered some of your questions. Though the question now is where exactly they're going to retreat to... Any ideas? If anyone actually guesses right, I will give you virtual cookies. But you're gonna have to literally read my mind for that because I don't think I've left any hints...


End file.
